


Devil Like You

by kassandra_divina_trevelyan



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Height Differences, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28401552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassandra_divina_trevelyan/pseuds/kassandra_divina_trevelyan
Summary: Better the devil you know than the devil you don’tCassiopeia “The Duchess” West is the daughter of one of Boston’s most infamous mob bosses. A mob legend in her own right and the most loyal soldier in her father’s army of hired guns, Cass expects herself to be named heir to the role of boss within the West crime family. But an act of painful betrayal and a shock engagement sends Cass into the arms of her father’s sworn enemy, Ransom Drysdale. What originally started as purely business devolves into something else as Ransom encourages Cass’s desire for revenge and she catches his typically wandering eye.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Nothing like the odor of stale cigarettes and the clicking of poker chips to awaken the senses, and she was out for blood. Sitting as one chair in a semi-circle, she studied the faces of her opponents behind an emotional mask, intended to keep them guessing as to what she thought behind those thick lashes and blue-grey eyes—sharp as knives.

The casino around her faded into muted noise, non-essential as she watched two of her three remaining opponents cast woeful glances to the cards on the table before begrudgingly folding. Her lips remained taut as a bowstring, unmoved outwardly.

A lady never gave away her advantage until the opportune moment.

When the gaze of the men surrounding the table landed on her for her response to the dealer, she didn’t need to spare a glance toward her cards before she decided, “I’ll raise. All-in.”

Her decision, coupled with her pushing the tower of chips stacked before her into the pot, drew whispers from the gathered audience and the players who dropped from the running. They were invested in seeing whether the earnings would go to the quiet newcomer who only spoke during her turn in her, or whether they would go to the millionaire coal lobbyist who had dominated the pot for the last two rounds. Her opponent, a portly man with a shining bald spot and a permanent red bluster to his face, seemed displeased with her action.

“She’s bluffing!” He exclaimed, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a wrinkled handkerchief and his date, a young twenty-something fake blonde with an orange spray tan, grimaced at the sight of his perspiration.

She turned to the dealer for the next moves, bored of the game already. All the talk felt dragging on her patience, and she would rather face the showdown than go through another round of mindless bragging. With the bets raised between her and her opponent, the house demanded they show their cards.

Her opponent smugly laid his cards down to reveal three jacks and two aces to the scattered approval of the crowd. A full house, good but not the unbeatable hand he acted like it was. “Let’s see what you have, little girl.”

She huffed with amusement, tempted to remind him that she was far from a little girl, but maybe her cards would do the talking for her. Quietly, she cleared her throat and cast her eyes downward—making the crowd glance at each other. They expected a sheepish admission of defeat from her, but the table went awkwardly still when she laid out her cards with a smirk. She felt sure that her hand would prove to be nothing to scoff at.

_Queen of hearts, jack of hearts, ten of hearts, nine of hearts, and eight of hearts._

“A queen-high straight flush,” The dealer announced to the table, and she received the distinct pleasure of watching the high and mighty millionaire’s Adam’s apple bob. He threw in the equivalent of half a million into the pot, and she would be going home with that since her straight flush easily beat the full house he set down.

She sat up taller, leaning over the table and pushing the stacked chips toward her. She started sorting them into the stainless steel case with dexterous fingers to assign them in rows by their monetary values. She’s played enough times to know the deal.

When the dealer signaled to her for another round, she shook her head and planned on walking away with her winnings. She considered herself smart enough to know when to walk away from the table, which put her in a league of her own above the average joe gamblers. The dealer shuffled the deck as she finished collecting her chips, snapping her case shut.

“Thanks for playing, boys. You made me a rich woman- Well, richer.” She smirked, tipping her heavy Bostonian accent when speaking full sentences, and her predatory gaze sweeping across her stunned competitors informed them that the woman before them was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She was no shrinking violet or a push-over. As smooth as could be, she slinked off toward the bar with a sway of her hips and her case filled with poker chips hanging off her red acrylic manicured hands. 

_Cassiopeia West always wins._

She claimed the first open seat at the bar, watching as the bartender hustled over to her with a stupid yellow bowtie and a dazzling smile. His eyes roved over her the plunging neckline and skin-tight fit of her [black cocktail dress,](https://pic.indiefit.com/0/154/1541131751_black-short-cocktail-dresses-2019-sheath-sleeveless-2019-lolipromdresscom_360_480.jpg) and Cass noticed the roving eyes. He was lucky she felt in a good mood. Otherwise, the look might get met with a glare that could kill a man twice over.

“What can I get you, beautiful?” He inquired, cleaning his hands with the dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

“I could go for a Sidecar,” Cass mused, casually pulling her room key from her tailored coat and handed it to the bartender. She had a tab with the hotel, charged to her room bill. The bartender nodded, taking the card from her.

“Excellent choice. I’ll get that for you right away.” He informed before heading off to make the drink for her. He passed by a second time and dropped off her key while fetching a clean glass. She slid it from the bar top and stuffed it into her coat’s pocket. As she did so, she felt her phone buzzing wildly in her pocket.

She ignored it the first time.

Cass heard it buzzing for the second time while relaxing in her post-victory win and personally cataloging how often the bartender sent flirtatious glances at her while making her drink. She ignored it again.

Somewhere around the third call in the last five minutes, it irked Cassiopeia enough that she decided to answer the damned call. She pulled the buzzing phone from the pocket and curbed back a growl when spotting the Boston area code of an unknown number. She figured the call was probably business and couldn’t afford to put it off any longer. She answered the call, putting her phone between her shoulder and ear. 

“Cassiopeia- What do you mean where the hell am I? I’m at the Bellagio, remember?” She barked into the phone, stifling a hiss of annoyance when she heard a familiar voice on the other side—one she despised. She listened with a roll of her eyes as the bartender re-approached with her Sidecar. He set the orange-colored drink before her with a flourish and a wink, eliciting a raise of her eyebrows. She lifted her drink to her lips, taking a slow sip. She lowered the glass down when she heard the news relayed to her from the other side with disappointment.

It seemed her vacation would be cut short, and that irked her to no end. She planned another three nights in Vegas to visit her favorite joints, catch a few shows maybe, and definitely get lucky at the craps table. But family business dealings came first and foremost, even when tragically inconvenient.

She growled out, before hanging up the call, her statement on the matter, “I’ll catch my flight first thing in the morning.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Out on the open road, Cass relished in the silence as she prepared for the reunion awaiting her. A “family” reunion is one way to describe it; she expected this kind of homecoming since there hadn’t been one for months. Instances like this were how things tended to run in the West crime family.

Her high status within the hierarchy made her privy to all operations underway in the family business, but she held more access than off-hand knowledge. Truth be told, she often called the shots with her strategic thinking and natural knack for spotting fatal flaws—leading her father’s enemies to fear her as much as they feared her father, or possibly more so.

She absentmindedly fiddled with the radio, turning the volume up and indulging in whatever classic rock track the station played, figuring the nostalgia factor had something to do with it. The wind of the midday breeze brushed through her ponytail and tickled her cheeks into a flushed pink from the chill of the eastern seaboard. Her fingers tapped to a mindless, disjointed melody along the curve of her steering wheel while she focused on the twists and turns in the road. She chose the scenic route for her drive that morning and knew that she wasn’t at risk of missing anything important. They never started without her present with her calling the shots.

She turned onto Sycamore Lane and cruised past the multi-million dollar mansions paving either (or likely both) sides of the street with a faint flicker of ambivalence painted across her features. She didn’t hate this place, but she didn’t love it either. Although she grew up in the blissful quiet of gated suburbia in the spacious, heartless mansion her family called “home,” she considered her true home in Boston proper—among the metropolitan lifestyle she chose.

Cass rolled her eyes when driving down the road, approaching the wrought iron gates guarding the West Manor from their neighbors. As her mother once “eloquently” phrased it, they were closing themselves off from the “riff-raff” of the block. That summed up her mother in a nutshell: a woman obsessed with her elitism and masking it beneath a polite veneer to save face.

She reached the gates, leaned out of the driver’s side to punch the security code in, and leisurely drove through the gates when they parted open for her. She took her time climbing up the winding driveway as she knew that nothing would start without her there. She casually parked her cherry red Lexus convertible in the middle of the porte cochère of her family’s mansion, nestled into the Newton suburbs outside of Boston.

“Home, sweet home,” She sarcastically mused when stepping out of her car and admiring that nothing about the socioeconomic homogeneity of the neighborhood changed. She had come straight from the airport, dressed casually for the occasion. Nevertheless, her father’s men knew she meant business, whether she donned a dress or her current [turtleneck and dark jeans combination](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1229/3334/products/emerson-fry-fw18-little-turtleneck-black-6_1024x.jpg?v=1575054804). The chirp of her car’s lock alerted the guards on shift to the heiress’s approach, knowing to properly address her or accept their much-deserved end.

“Good day, Miss West!” They exclaimed when Cass reached an exact six paces from them, not meeting her eyes out of respect. Cass never demanded they avoid eye contact, but she never went out to discourage it either. She would never protest her father’s men displaying respect toward her because of her status as the daughter and most loyal soldier.

“Afternoon,” Cass replied while walking past them, entering the glamorous foyer of her family’s mansion to the same marble floors and champagne-colored walls and the damn glittering chandelier hanging precariously from the ceiling. The glamor told one story while the memorialized destruction from business mishaps and unfortunate scuffles juxtaposed each other to immortalize the tales of the dangerous lives they lead.

The chandelier was a perfect example, having survived a gunfight between her father and one of their former business partners around eleven years ago. If she recalled correctly, he found his yacht burning in the marina from a freak motor explosion, the tires of his new BMW slashed up, and his wife mysteriously uncovered evidence of his numerous extramarital affairs and sugar babies. He learned to live the example of why no one should cross the Wests, and it was a reputation Cass capitalized on. 

She ascended the stairs, rather quickly for a woman in heels. She felt undaunted by the challenge; she had learned to walk in them as soon as she was old enough and lived in them.

Gracefully walking down the long, drawn-out hall, Cass brushed off her clothes and prepared herself to enter her father’s personal study—which he converted into a meeting space—and that served as the site for all important meetings. She pushed open the door without delay, and her entrance caused the men gathered inside to snap to attention. She couldn’t speak for her father or other senior leadership of the enterprise, but Cass ran her side of things with militaristic precision. She generated respect or fear with her strict emphasis on running the best crime family in the whole damn continental United States.

“Gentlemen, at ease,” Cass remarked aloofly as she breezed past them and selected her reserved seat on the left-hand side of her father, the position of honor. She dropped her purse below the table but remained standing, knowing that her father would be any moment now. He was never one to be late.

At her word, the men reclaimed their seats and relaxed their posture significantly. However, they minded their manners in the presence of the Duchess, the designated name Cass earned for herself, and she cultivated the reputation of deadly elegance with the blood lineage to bolster it.

“Miss West, do you know why your father called us in?” A newcomer, Jimmy “Ace” Santos, questioned and found himself the recipient of shocked stares from others who wondered whether he had a death wish or not. Talking to Cass without being spoken to first might carry a harsh penalty with her father, as he expected for himself.

Cass noticed the door open before she could respond and watched her father walk in alongside his other “favorite”: Julius “The Brute” Byrne. Byrne happened to be one of the few of her father’s men who brazenly spoke to her without carefully choosing his words, not there was much going on upstairs anyways. Not to mention, his body count paled in comparison to hers—she knew that fact.

“Thank you for arriving promptly with such short notice, gentlemen,” Mathias remarked to those gathered around the table, standing rigidly at attention. His gaze flickered over to where Cass stood at her position of honor and gruffly ambled over to his chair beside her. Byrne, while taking his chair further down the table, dared to glance at Cass and she threw an openly hostile glare back. He retreated his gaze to dull the heat of her glare, feeling her eyes on him was like a grenade with the pin ready to be pulled out.

When Mathias assumed his seat, the rest of his men followed in succession. Silence fell over the room as Mathias sat up and said, “I have a big announcement to make, gentlemen.”

“What kind of announcement, boss?” Francesco “Rusty” Capitano, the longtime financial advisor and Cass’s godfather, inquired on behalf of the table. From the expressions of those around the table, he spoke on their behalf. Even Cass, who was uncharacteristically in the dark about why the meeting, couldn’t tell where her father was going with this. The call back felt hasty, unexpected.

Mathias grimaced when reaching for his shirt, noticeably not moving his left hand. Cass immediately sensed something off as her father was left-handed, and dread seeped through her stomach to her chest. With all eyes on him, Mathias managed to discard the shirt, revealing wrappings around his arm to gasps from around the room. All those in attendance recognized the wound for what it was: a bullet wound.

He sneered with some pain, “It has come to my attention that I have stalled on a big decision for far too long, and it shamefully took a bullet for me to see the mistake. I am determined to rectify that. Two weeks ago, the Drysdale brat nearly severed the artery with a shot but shattered the bone instead. The run-in made me realize that I can no longer afford to put off the business of naming my heir.” However, the room erupted into shocked murmurings, with it appearing that none of them knew about the incident until that moment. Cass heard enough-

“Why didn’t we know about this?” Cass questioned, wondering when her father started keeping secrets from her and his other top advisors like this. The family business entailed a few secrets now and again, but something of this scale should never be kept from the inner circle.

“It wasn’t of importance to you-” Byrne sneered from his seat, directing his words at Cass. Bad idea. His petulant response earned him the glares of all the men in the room, including her father. Byrne shrunk back begrudgingly under the scrutiny and dared not look to Cass. Her eyes would dismember him into bits without mercy.

Ignoring Byrne’s outburst, Mathias continued, “The tide needs to turn. Ever since the Drysdale brat usurped his father and expanded his control over his half of the Thromby-Drysdale empire, he pushed against our advances to make a deadlocked battle. We need to tackle the changes with new blood, sharper minds, and more ruthless tactics—and that informed my choice as to who would replace me should I die.”

All eyes settled onto Cass upon Mathias’s declaration, taking in her infamous poker face sporting the faintest traces of pride in the upturned corners of her full lips and an inquisitively arched slender brow. From her seat beside him, Cass placed her hands onto the table with full preparation to rise and address the room. It was no secret that much of the Wests' successes in the recent turn of events were due to Cass, whether her feminine wiles, wits, or her knack for their battle strategy that bordered on genius. Therefore, she was the obvious (and universally assumed) choice to succeed her father.

Mathias West was a man who preached the importance of loyalty and family, so why wouldn’t he pass the reins to his beloved daughter—a confident and capable mobster in her own right?

Mathias steepled his fingers together and relished in the suspense of the room, clearing his throat. “Today, I—Mathias West—announcing that I have chosen my most loyal soldier, Byrne, as my heir.”

The room awkwardly stayed quiet, stunned so greatly that no one thought to clap. The men in the room felt uneasy, uncomfortable with the choice, and that opened up the whispering. Byrne was a decent marksman and somewhat intimidating from his domineering stature, but everyone knew little went on upstairs.

No one seemed more taken aback than Cassiopeia West herself, falling through various emotions slamming into her with a viciously dizzying speed that she nearly fell ill. He promised- She was supposed to inherit the keys to the kingdom as the blood daughter of the West lineage, the last of their line.

_Confusion. Dread. Betrayal. Rage. How could her father do this to her?_

Upon hearing his name, Byrne gave a cocky smirk and stood up to address the room. His first moves to flex and strut around like a peacock immediately elicited looks of concern and some of feeble protest. However, none of those silent disapprovals would match the scathing interruption of Cass harshly slamming her hands against the tabletop and pushing out of her seat with a wickedly sharp glare settled on the man who stole her glory.

“Father, might I insist we speak… privately?” The words implied a request, but nothing about her tone would indicate that from how menacingly she snarled out the word ‘privately.’ The table shifted uncomfortably during the stare standoff between father and daughter. The old saying went, “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” and a scorned Cassiopeia West embodied a death wish—complete with a slug to the back of the head, execution-style, and a body bag. No one, outside of Mathias, dared to make eye contact with her. The deafening, painful silence among those in the room and the sight might make someone laugh to see nearly a dozen or so burly men frightened by a five-foot-four-tall woman, but there was nothing funny about the potential hell Cass might rain down on anyone who opposed her.

“Clear the room, gentlemen. You are dismissed,” Mathias ordered. No one needed to be told twice, scrambling to collect their belongings and disperse from the room not a moment too soon. None wished to stick around for the fight brewing in the air, hanging dark and low over their heads like a gathering storm. The mass exodus saw Byrne, Cass, and Mathias left alone to speak privately about the bombshell that might splinter an empire in two.

As the men filed out of the room, Cass’s mother, Meredith, entered the room. Cass assumed she waited outside the study, planning on harassing her as soon as the meeting ended. As of late, Cass noticed her on a quest to tether her to some poor high-society boy, unaware of the family business, with an arranged engagement to siphon money from through an iron-clad prenup. The sap hitched to her would find his coffers drained steadily to fund the West criminal enterprise in a rainy day fund.

Meredith scurried over to Mathias’s side while Cass attempted to smooth out her jagged anger by clenching and unclenching her fists repetitively. She knew letting anger get the better of her and shadowing her judgment would cause more problems than solutions, but she felt ambushed by her father’s decision. The betrayal of his promise broke her trust in him, and she knew she could no longer trust anything he said to her. The bullet should’ve killed the cowardly rat dead where he stood because he was dead to her. To Cass, he was nothing to her—no better than a low-life street thug that tried to mug her. Betrayal stung deep, piercing her chest with the poison of envy branching out into the hollow space.

“I’ll repeat that I said a private meeting, so he shouldn’t be here.” Cass declared, her eyes boasting a fire that threatened to spill from her lips and set flame to all she touched with one statement. Her words echoed the same finality that the promise of a bullet loaded into the chamber of a pistol did. Her expressed ire didn’t draw sympathy from her father; he bristled and stifled an exasperated sigh. Her ire over Byrne’s selection was not ideal. He hoped she would take the news better than this or understand his choices were in their enterprise's best interest.

“This is a family matter. Byrne is family-” Mathias explained, alongside agreeing hums from his wife. The two observed how their daughter’s eyes narrowed, and she clenched her jaw with disappointed, quiet wrath. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“He is not our blood! He will never be one of us! You have made a mistake by entrusting our operations in his hands.” Cass ranted, thoroughly infuriated, feeling a vein pop along her neck and her face flush the same shade as her heels from the anger. She didn’t care that Byrne stood a few feet and heard everything she spewed about him; she would say the same to his face.

More than anything, she despised her father for the lie. He espoused the most nauseating propaganda about loyalty but turned around and stuck a sword through her back. So disappointing to see how he treated the woman most loyal to him, his staunchest defender, and the prodigal daughter. The hypocrisy of it all made her blood boil.

Mathias seemed uncharacteristically calm during her outburst, something unusual for her, and contradicted the long-standing reputation for a nasty temper. He never liked having his decisions questioned. However, he knew that he needed his daughter for the sake of unity to agree. “You are right about something, Cassiopeia. Byrne is not one of us by blood, which is why I’d like to propose a union that would bring him into the fold as a member of the West family.”

The implication was not lost on Cass, who felt her stomach lurch from the influx of dread swirling around and shrouding her in numbness. There was no way- Her father would never stoop so low as to arrange a marriage without her consent, he couldn’t- First, there was a shock, which soured into disgust. Rising from the ashes, her anger reborn and untouchable like a phoenix burning bright.

“You want me to marry Byrne?” She questioned, visibly appalled by such a suggestion. When her father refused to deny it, she nearly gagged. Her lips wore a disgusted sneer, “I would rather resort to sticking needles into my fingers before I ever considered or humored the thought of marrying someone like him. Besides, I would never expand the West dynasty with an inbred, illiterate brute.”

“Cassiopeia!” Meredith gasped, scandalized by her daughter’s comments or her evident lack of remorse. She didn’t know what Cass was doing. Women were taught in their family to know their place and mind their manners, or else. Insubordination came as an ugly look. However, that never stopped Cass's rebellious, unpredictable nature, who, in Meredith’s view, delusionally believed she could run with the big boys and play mobster. She was a smart girl, but not smart enough to grasp that there was no place for women in the hierarchy of the West clan.

“I take no offense, ma’am,” Byrne assured Meredith with a bumbling response after spending a noticeable period processing her insults, alternating between gawking like a dead fish and frowning. Cass might blame it on all the bar brawls he started, but that was too generous of her.

“You should,” Cass mused, pushing her hair back from her face. Even while angered, she strived to be elegant and fixed the loose hairs escaping her ponytail. She glared at Byrne for having the audacity to interject in the conversation. “I meant to offend.”

“Cassiopeia, I know my men. They will not respect you, a woman, in command. They will rebel because a woman cannot control the wild nature of men. I made my decision; Byrne will lead. I refuse to tolerate such blatant disrespect of my wishes, nor will I accept derogatory-” Mathias’s declaration met a swift interruption when Cass held her hand up and snappily waved it into a closed fist, a tactic she witnessed him use on his men to silence them.

His lecturing her would not force her into submission, for she wasn’t some lap dog that would desist when he called ‘heel.’

“-And I refuse to tolerate you selling me off like a piece of livestock because you incorrectly assume I’m unfit to properly run this empire. I am the best man you have. I am your sharpest mind and one of your best guns—not a pretty face who did nothing. Everything I have ever done was for this family. I lived, breathed, and pledged to die for this empire; I was born to replace as defined by your personal promise. So, for you to pass me over and give everything I worked for to someone wholly undeserving of it reeks of a low blow, even for you, Mathias.” Cass spat out her father’s name, laced with vitriolic hatred. For over twenty-something years, she was nothing short of the loyal daughter, and what did that earn her? Knives in the back by her parents.

Mathias’s eyes flared dangerously, and he raised his hand up with the threat of retaliation for her insubordination, but Cass glared with a hardened, undeterred edge. She never let violence born in bravado frightened her, much less from her father. She knew him, and Mathias West grew too accustomed to others doing his dirty work for him; he was too much of a coward to follow through. When he dropped his hand, she shook her head disapprovingly, “This meeting is over.”

Without another word, Cass stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. She planned on getting as far away from this godforsaken place as she could, not wanting to be anywhere near her family. She heard approaching footfalls from behind her and knew who was stupid enough to chase after her, quickening her pace. A hand snagged her wrist, and she, upon whirling around on her heel, snarled when seeing Byrne standing there.

“You shouldn’t disrespect your father like that, Cassiopeia. You should feel lucky that Mathias is such a tolerant, patient man when dealing with your hysterics. I would never be so understanding of outbursts and a woman forgetting her place, especially if she were my wife-” Byrne commented, smugly pushing his luck, or did he want to get his lights punched out? His words hardly inspired fear or a sense of intimidation, but anger from her. For a man who prized his brawniness and imposing stature, Cass found Byrne’s rat-like features to be unintimidating.

His audacity baffled her. Since when did her father make the regrettable decision to choose him to mean that he could condescendingly speak down to her or tell her what to do. Her father might’ve decided to ruin his empire, but she refused to let his poor judgment ruin her.

“First of all, why don’t you get it through your thick skull that I am not and will never be your wife?” Red trickled into her vision when Byrne refused to let go of her arm, despite her attempts to yank it back. He crossed her boundary. Escalation was inevitable, seeing as he continued to run his mouth with no recourse.

“I think you’ll come around. You’re too loyal to the West enterprise to turn your back over this. Your father and I already discussed the arrangement and the terms of our engagement,” Byrne laughed like he knew something she didn’t, but his amusement served to further enrage Cass. He was nothing; just a jackass with a busted-up face and a personality as radiant as rust.

Leering at her, Byrne’s grip on her wrist uncomfortably tightened, and he licked his chapped lips to her disgust, “I’ve waited for this for years, and I get to make you all mine. You spent your sweet time wearing those tight dresses, and I loved staring at that sexy little ass of yours- and don’t get me started on how those breasts make me-” Byrne never finished as Cass, blinded by red, snatched her arm and backhanded him hard enough to see stars. The sting of the slap transformed from bad to worse when Byrne realized the glittering ring on her middle finger drew blood in a staggeringly deep cut, starting from the corner of his lips. He clutched at his face, grimacing because of the sting of knuckles and hard cold metal colliding with his face. While Byrne recoiled and licked his wounds like the dog he was, Cass had a few choice words for him, and those would hurt more than a fucking slap.

“I am Cassiopeia West, daughter of Mathias ‘Snake Eyes’ West and The Duchess of Boston. I will not be spoken down to like a naïve child by a man whose STD count is higher than his IQ,” The pronounced disgust accentuated Cass’s razor-sharp insults, intended to humiliate Byrne where it truly hurt: his ego.

She thumbed the blood from the ornate, diamond-encrusted rose gold band of her [ring](https://image.dhgate.com/0x0/f2/albu/g8/M00/DF/01/rBVaV1zTmaKAIJ4LAAF6Lihhmlo701.jpg) while her eyes simmered with unadulterated, unmasked wrath. Her father might think that this union will ensure her concession to the betrayal, but Cass refused to settle for being a mob wife. She refused to back away from Byrne as she growled, “Remember this lesson because I don’t tolerate repeat offenses. Put your hands on me again, and I will have someone cut them off for good measure. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Byrne huffed while he pulled his hand back and noticed the light smear of blood on the skin. The rejection stung, but he was determined to win her. She might not like it, but her mother and father were on his side. He would have her.

“Now, get out of my fucking sight. I need a drink, and you are in my way,” Cass snapped, and she shoved past Byrne with a forceful shoulder check. He stumbled back into the nearby wall and held back a string of curses as Cass sauntered off in her famed [candy-apple red stilettos](https://us.jimmychoo.com/dw/image/v2/BDNT_PRD/on/demandware.static/-/Sites-jch-master-product-catalog/default/dwd2b52cbb/images/original/247anoukpat_red_backpair.jpg?sw=520&sh=520&sm=fit) without as much as a glance back.

She was livid. She was out for revenge. 


	3. Chapter 3

Standing on the curb outside the upscale, timeless bar in the heart of a neighborhood she shouldn’t be in, Cass knew what she planned on doing was undoubtedly reckless. She knew it full well that her mere presence on Thromby-Drysdale territory might incite a fight or worse—depending on how much damage she did. The Rye Room allegedly served as Ransom Drysdale's headquarters, her father’s sworn enemy and hers before that afternoon, and his operations since his hostile takeover.

She walked on unsteady ground but far too enraged to fully ruminate the consequences of what could go wrong or entertain a sense of fear toward danger. She was a mobster; she refused to do scared.

“Into the wolf’s den I go,” Cass whispered, pulling off her sleek black blazer in the nighttime breeze of the mid-fall Boston cold. That left her in an elegant black [cocktail dress](https://66.media.tumblr.com/39d2149774b4c09f8047b00142e35d20/eefc725ce4674569-e0/s500x750/deffb85efbeabaa7a6e3234934b71648d9cb1cf6.jpg) that accentuated her curves, glossy [red-bottom heels](https://66.media.tumblr.com/37353861b31998ccc6207aeaf57790ae/eefc725ce4674569-20/s400x600/c6e259085aacd4b993cc6bdb7c1f87483203c835.png) on her feet, and sultry confidence that fit like a second skin. She draped her blazer over her purse, inside which she stashed her beloved last line of defense: her infamous [Beretta 92FS](https://66.media.tumblr.com/a61e2514cc3965abc63cca42c21bf2eb/eefc725ce4674569-d0/s400x600/758d15f5a0a77a9063c58b22647c95a4e966ee1c.jpg). A person’s weapon of choice said something about them to the outside observer, but Cass neither had the interest nor the patience to speculate what the pearl white and chrome handgun spoke as to her reputation. A cold swipe of her hand to smooth out any wrinkles in the skirt of her dress, and she squared her shoulders back, prepared to make a deal with the man who her father considered worse than the Devil himself.

Stepping into the shadowy, vintage speakeasy-inspired bar, Cass reckoned she attracted the eyes of the patrons onto her from the magnitude of stares turning to face her. Those who frequented The Rye Room (and were in the good graces of Ransom Drysdale) made themselves well aware of the Wests, including the elusive daughter known for her luck with the cards, sharp wit, and quickness on the draw. The hostility directed at her with every step she took felt palpable, but she held her head high and walked like she was untouchable with a smirk on her ruby-red pout.

As she approached the bar, two burly men menacingly strode up to her and bordered on invading her personal space. Ah, finally! The hired muscle meant to guard this establishment against trouble like her arrived. She began to wonder whether anyone might stop her march through the bar or did Ransom Drysdale allow anyone to waltz into his kingdom without proper vetting. That seemed quite brazen or foolish for a man with a sizable bounty on his head, depending on perspective. That said, she hardly studied the dime-a-dozen thus without a flicker of fear or any sign of submission in her.

Cassiopeia Lydia West didn’t cower or submit.

“You’re quite far from home, little lady. The Wests, their sympathizers, or anyone of their kind aren’t welcome here,” One of the guards informed, as calm as could be, while his companion appeared to be frothing at the mouth from Cass’s audacity to show her face somewhere she clearly didn’t belong. 

“I’m here on business, boys. I have some considerably important information to discuss with your boss, Mr. Drysdale, that he might regard of great interest,” Cass declared, neither playing coy nor dumb. When the Duchess decided to do business, there was no time for theatrics or obstructions to her end goal—making her as efficient as the bullets loaded into her prized pistol. When the guards seemed to struggle in responding and could merely blink at her, she rolled her eyes. _Clearly, witty banter wasn’t their strong suit, now was it?_

She held her hands up in a good-faith gesture, despite her annoyance. “The only weapon in my possession is the Beretta in the purse. Feel free to conduct a search if need be.”

On principle, the guards conducted a search of her persons as the patrons of The Rye Room looked on in speechless disbelief. The chatter and ambient noise typical of a bar on a weekday night vanished when the doors whooshed open by a wicked wind, and Cassiopeia “The Duchess” West sauntered into the bar of her family’s sworn enemy.

As Cass promised, no other weapons were discovered outside the Beretta resting at the bottom of her nearly-empty purse. Seizing her arms between the two of them, the guards decided to see how the boss wanted to handle the West brat or her alleged “information” for him. Cass, disgusted with them even laying a finger on her, wrenched her wrists from their bruising grip with surprising strength for a lady her size and a glare that could kill a man stone cold.

“I hardly require an escort, boys,” Cass snapped aggressively, and she, reluctantly, surrendered her designer purse and expensive heathens before she was taken to the back office. To where Ransom Drysdale awaited. She confidently marched ahead of them and listened to their minimal directions, mainly concerned with keeping her from going where she wasn’t allowed. The boss would deal with her how he saw fit, and that wasn’t their problem.

The three of them, the guards and the willing prisoner, reached the door belonging to Ransom’s office and one of the guards leaned forward to knock.

“Come in,” Ransom declared after an intentional pause, following the knock on his office door. He adjusted the cuffs of his cream-colored sweater around his wrists before reaching for the brown coat draped over the chair in which he sat. If not for the knock, he would’ve been heading out for the evening.

It was hard being Hugh “Ransom” Drysdale, trust fund playboy, mob boss, and the black sheep of the Thromby-Drysdale crime family. However, he appeared to be the preferable choice to his father, Richard Drysdale, as his mother and her side of the family hardly batted an eye when Ransom launched a ruthless coup to usurp his father. They knew, as he did, that Richard had grown weak, preoccupied with his latest mistress—younger than his only son and unable to speak a lick of English. He showered her with expensive gifts like a glorified sugar baby, despite his intact marriage to Ransom’s mother, and Ransom refused to let his idiot of a father squander the family legacy with his carelessness. Ransom didn’t know the definition of losing.

He was young, hungry, and rumored to be ‘full of himself’ but undeniably intelligent. His elevated power shifted the stakes of the game as he made a fool of veteran mobsters and the inept police force alike. His name carried considerable weight in the underground network, and he leveraged it like currency. Every gangster earned themselves a nickname, but Ransom refused to acknowledge his. He despised the name Ransom “Pretty Boy” Drysdale with every fiber of his being, and so all his workers referred to him as Mr. Drysdale or “Boss.” Calling him anything else, mistakenly or intentionally, carried a worse fate than death. He demanded a level of respect on his name or else.

The door swung open to reveal Morris and McKee with a dark-haired, well-dressed woman standing between them. Ransom decided to seat himself down and waited for someone to speak or explain why they were wasting his time.

Morris awkwardly broke the silence, “There’s someone here to see you, Boss.” He shoved Cass when she refused to move forward, knocking her off-kilter. She stumbled, clenching her jaw to refrain from launching into a colorful string of curses that might make a hardened thug flush red. 

“Touch me one more time, and I will not hesitate to break your fingers,” Cass remarked with such serenity that starkly contradicted the viciousness of her words. That was no idle threat, but a promise. Ransom’s brow raised, but his face split into a smug grin. He knew the face of the infuriated woman standing before him, belonging to none other Cassiopeia “The Duchess” West.

Any good mobster learned the faces of his enemy, and Cassiopeia, arguably, was an equal threat to him as her father was. Ransom thoroughly studied what little information existed on her until he committed it to memory. What he knew about Cassiopeia West: they were only a year apart in age, she was raised in the highest echelons of society like him, she masqueraded as a defense attorney to avoid suspicion from the authorities, she enjoyed a good game of poker from how frequently she visited casinos, and was extremely intelligent and dangerous. Everything else felt like an enigma, a shadow along a dark alleyway at night.

“What do we have here? Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Cassiopeia West, the daughter of good old Mathias ‘Snake Eyes’ West, standing before me in my bar? I have to say—that’s a bold move of your father, sending you to me.” Ransom, entertained by Cass’s audacity, commented, but Cass appeared unmoved. She would stop his attempts to rattle her while he was ahead.

“I am here on my own accords, Mr. Drysdale,” Cass informed while standing, despite the open chair positioned across from Ransom. She refused to sit down when negotiating, even when invited to relax. Ransom observed her obstinate refusal caused his blood to race in thrilling excitement. Call it the Thromby in him, but Ransom did love a good opportunity for intrigue.

“Oh? Then, please enlighten me as to the nature of your visit,” Ransom declared, coming across with a dismissiveness like he spoke to a child. He was a very busy man who didn’t appreciate his time being wasted, but a pretty face doing the distracting earned Ransom's leniency. However, Cass detested his attitude.

She cleared her throat disinterestedly, finding Ransom’s commentary far from appreciated or complimentary. She bit back a growl when saying, “I will make this short and sweet: I am here to offer my help. You have a vested interest in destroying my father, and I have crucial information about the inner workings of the West enterprise. There is a deal to be made here.”

Cass expected a response along the lines of more questioning or confusion but faced a bark of laughter from Ransom. He was laughing at her? Her eyes flashed dangerously, cutting like the blade of a razor—one that was imagining itself slicing across Ransom’s throat. Her blood boiled at his audacity while Ransom’s taunting reaction simmered down.

He slapped the desk playfully, knitting his brows together with visible bemusement. He assumed that she would be a better actress when trying to convince him of this double agent nonsense. “You expect me to believe that Cassiopeia? According to word on the street, you are your father’s most loyal soldier.”

Ransom did his research, which included investigating the West family and their key players. He prided himself on not leaving the opportunity to be caught off-guard. If there was one thing he hated was when people assumed him to be unintelligent or easily fooled. He relied on his cunning nature to get him where he sat. He fully embodied the trust fund playboy bastard persona people assumed of him as those were true, but dimwitted couldn’t be further than the truth.

In the world of the Wests, Cassiopeia was a rarity. She ran as one of the boys, occupying senior leadership them unlike her mother or really any other woman associated with the men under Mathias West. She gleaned a reputation more ruthless than her father—a feat worth noting.

“Was more accurately represents the reality. I work for myself, first and foremost. I am sure you understand that, Mr. Drysdale.” Cass’s curt reply cleanly sliced through the laughter at her expense. Her eyes flared dangerously, but the tables turned swiftly when doubts collapsed under her gaze. Ransom adjusted in his seat, a move which telegraphed that she had his attention, and she resisted a smirk. She didn’t need to raise a finger or threaten violence, unlike most men resorted to. A lady understood the influence her words and the right tone could have on persuasion.

Finally, she slipped into the chair across from Ransom with her posture impeccable—relaxed yet poised to strike, like a royal ruler perched on their throne. She hummed, “I decided that I have options outside my family’s operations and that my skills might be an asset elsewhere.”

How she danced around her words spoke volumes to Ransom, not slipping past his notice. She delivered a message with carefully chosen words and the smoothness of a seasoned attorney, drawing the attention of his guards into her. She was good, but Ransom knew there was more to it than Cass, shopping her options with other families.

No, she was hiding something big, and it involved him and her father somehow.

What Ransom did start to glean was that Cass might not be there to sell him out to her father. Her walking into his bar with only a pistol for protection—that she readily surrendered—seemed quite brazen, even by the standards of ‘Snake Eyes’ himself.

“Intelligent and beautiful; rumor failed to capture your essence, Princess,” Ransom steepled his fingers together, and his ice-blue eyes trailed up Cass’s figure to her unabashed annoyance. She placed her hands on her hips, narrowed her eyes, and avoided making her lips into a hostile sneer. She wanted to present the illusion of a bitter cold yet powerful anger, the illusion of calm instead of the unruly wrath swirling around in her. She had no patience to humor Ransom’s reputation or flirtations.

“I’m not a ‘princess.’ So, do we have a deal, or am I wasting my time on you? I can find another of my father’s many enemies who would kill for intel like this.” Cass grew tired of worthless chatter and Ransom’s piss-poor attempt at intimation and mind games. She held no amusement for wasted time.

Her father was a despised figure, having no shortage of enemies in the business. Hatred of him reached across international waters and distant shores, possibly to unite many under the single banner of his detractors. If Ransom wasn’t man enough to accept her offer, she would happily take her business to someone who would.

She drove a hard bargain because she knew her worth as an asset or an ally, rare in their business. Her hardline stance might make someone guess twice about pushing her buttons, but Ransom didn’t play by the rules. To say he was impressed would be an understatement, an awfully poor descriptor to describe how he felt about The Duchess of Boston. He considered himself impressed, amused, and downright attracted to the delightful mix of danger, razor-sharp intelligence, and scathing wit that encompassed Cassiopeia West. Not to mention, she defined “easy on the eyes.”

The chance to crush Mathias West he waited so long for seemed to fall out of the sky and landed squarely into his lap by the hands of the prodigal daughter herself. Although this could be Ransom’s lucky day, he wouldn’t give his position up so easily. He would make Cass work a little harder for it.

“We do, on one condition. Why have you come to me? Why turn on your blood if this isn’t a trap?” He questioned, straightening his signature brown overcoat that layered atop his favorite cable-knit sweater. Cass’s eyes followed his every move in pure instinct, debating whether he held innocuous intent or held a gun in the concealment of his coat. He gave a small shrug, holding out his hands to reveal them empty.

He smirked, “Color me intrigued.” He tried another angle: trying to get Cass to spill her guts out of annoyance. For all the snide comments about him, his looks, or his propensity for charming pretty little things like Miss West, Ransom tended to be an expert manipulator. Mind games were his weapon of choice, not far ahead of his signature handgun. He saved that for the messes that his charisma and intellect couldn’t solve, accomplished with a single bullet execution-style.

“I think daddy dearest deserves to be knocked down a few pegs and figured that you would be the best choice to ally myself with,” Cass remarked, evasively revealing nothing yet somehow telling all he needed to know. Ransom nearly whistled in appreciation for she posed the greatest competitor to his skills, a challenge that allowed him to stretch his legs. Whatever lingering traces of his smirk were left fell, and there ensued a silence where Cass and Ransom analyzed each other from across the desk.

Neither moved an inch, not a flinch or falter.

Ransom snapped his fingers, and one of the thugs straightened his faintly slouching posture nervously. He sidled to the side of the desk, awaiting Ransom’s orders. Ransom hummed, “McKee, fetch the lady and I a drink. Bring me a chilled glass and some Devil’s Single Malt, neat, and for Princess here-?”

Cass didn’t tear her eyes from Ransom, and she, although glaring at Ransom for his continued use of that stupid nickname, would indulge in a drink for the mission of reducing her father’s precious empire to smoldering ashes. So, she decided.

“Vodka martini, make it extra dirty.” Ransom’s emotionless expression morphed into one of pleasant surprise. He leaned back in his chair and gave a dark, husky chuckle. He could comment that a woman’s drink order told him everything he needed to know, but a woman like Cass seemed aware of that or how people perceived her choices.

“A woman after my own heart.” Ransom complimented, and Cass barely avoided rolling her eyes. Flattery didn’t woo her or stroke her ego enough to let her guard down. According to some of her father’s men, who met their untimely ends during a mission, she was a stone-cold bitch.

McKee nodded, rushing from the room to fulfill the drink orders while vigil at his post—guarding the door to keep Cass from leaving before Ransom finished deciding. Ransom picked up the nearest pen on his desk and circled it in absentminded air shapes as he arched his brow at Cass, “To answer your question, Princess- I am open to a deal, but you need to tell me why you’ve really come.”

“You were already given an answer.”

“Yeah, but I don’t believe you’re telling the full truth,” Ransom replied knowingly, seeing how much Cass wanted a potential partnership. It was high time the master poker player laid her cards on the table because Ransom refused to agree without transparency, not willing to take a miscalculated risk and endanger his whole operation due to underestimating Cassiopeia West. 

Cass laced her hands together and pursed her lips, “And if it’s not?”

“I want to know all the relevant information before I commit to anything, especially as a man in my position with enemies and ‘friends’ like mine. Surely, you must understand my rationale, don’t you, Princess?” Ransom reasoned with her, and Cass crossed her arms over her chest, narrowed her eyes, but begrudgingly agreed.

McKee returned with the drinks, setting them down on the desk. Ransom reached forward and collected his chilled glass and the unopened bottle of fine whiskey while Cass curled her slender fingers around the martini glass. Ransom waved McKee and Morris to stand outside the office, giving him and Cass more privacy to speak.

Ransom opened the bottle with satisfaction and Cass sighed, knowing that stalling would get nowhere. So, she swirled the olive skewer around the edge of the rim and clicked her tongue with the stinging barbs of cynical bitterness, “That I do. But who needs enemies when your family can stab you in the back?”

Ransom felt the curtain of intrigue whisked open with the firm hand of clarity, and all suddenly made sense. Despite the unexpected twist, Ransom leaned forward on his desk and mulled over what Mathias West could’ve done to upset the beloved daughter and idolized soldier of the empire. He tipped the rim of the bottle, pouring out three fingers of his single malt as he questioned, “Ah, so the old man betrayed you. What did he do?”

“Named Julius “The Brute” Byrne as his successor instead of me, then proceeded to have the gall to suggest that I marry that bastard to preserve the West family bloodline,” Cass summarized, causing Ransom to stop pouring his drink abruptly. His eyes jumped up to hers in disbelief while his expression soured into a scowl. The mention of Byrne upset Ransom, and she couldn’t deny she would have a similar reaction but for different reasons. She huffed sarcastically, “I see you harbor a distaste for the man, but likely not in sympathy for my situation. However, it appears we hold a common enemy here—Byrne and my father.”

“I’m frankly insulted that your father considered him my equal or, god forbid, my superior. If rumors are correct, you were the alleged mastermind behind my father’s fall from grace and the architect for the early struggles I faced.” Ransom offendedly scoffed, finishing his task of pouring himself his three fingers of whiskey. He corked the bottle and pushed it to the side, taking a drawn-out sip with a refreshed sigh. He tasted the refined smoothness, hints of oak, and the caramel notes laced into the liquor with mild delight.

Cass observed his nonchalance and eyed her drink, taking a tentative sip. She ran the silent calculation whether or not Ransom would poison or drug her drink, but she didn’t believe he would. It didn’t seem like his play here, with the offer she had him hooked on.

“Perhaps I am,” Cass declared without a trace of fear, sipping her drink. She would take credit for what victories her wit earned her with no sense of shame or “humility befitting a lady,” as her mother would lovingly describe it. She was no inferior, nor was she a fragile, dependent damsel in distress; she was a dame who could cause some serious damage.

Thoroughly amused by her spitfire, Ransom never imagined that he might work with a West but determined himself flexible enough to new arrangements and aware how their combined efforts would bear victorious fruits. One might describe the union between him and Cass as a match made in hell—the ideal duo for raising hell and turning the mob world onto its head. 

“Then, I would be a fool to decline the chance to destroy Mathias West, assisted by his beautiful daughter. His enterprise’s greatest mind will be his prideful undoing.” Ransom adopted a crooked yet unfailingly charming smirk that tended to make women weak in the knees—or so he heard. He swirled his drink around and admired the way the rich amber caught in the light like spun gold, lifting his eyes above the rim of the glass. Cass, however, seemed relatively unfazed and disappointingly immune to his charms. Her lack of reaction made Ransom want to try harder, wondering what it might take to crack through that icy exterior of The Duchess of Boston.

His eyes glimmered in unrepentant pride, “So, how shall we begin taking down your father, Princess? You’re the expert here.”

“When I see you again. I will send you when and where to meet, but I think here should be the most ideal for most of our meetings. I can make the trip under the guise of working. I highly suggest that we discuss matters in person. The paranoid bastard spies on his men constantly, and Byrne encourages it like a true authoritarian dictator.” Cass shared, providing a transparent picture of the iron-clad control Mathias held over his people. That seemed why the West enterprise remained free of leaks as no one wished to anger the boss or incur the wrath of Cass, who served as her father’s leak hunter.

Therefore, no one would ever suspect she was the leak.

“Then, how should I coordinate with you?” Ransom inquired, picking the pen back up and rested it against his chin. Cass reached for her purse but remembered that she gave it to the guards. So, she leaned forward and snatched the pen, writing down her number on the blank corner of the report resting on his desk.

“There,” Cass hummed from behind the rim of her martini glass. She narrowed her eyes, “But that doesn’t mean you can call me whenever. I will reach out to you.”

Ransom knew that she held some endgame in all this, “Ultimately, what do you want out of this? To teach your father a lesson, to take over?” He inquired, curious as to whether he was dethroning one enemy to appoint another one—a more befitting one for himself. Cass shook her head; she no longer wanted the empire as it was tainted by foreign hands. For all she was concerned, that which she once coveted was useless and undesirable now. 

“I want him to watch his precious empire reduced to ashes and rubble. His assets wiped out by his own negligence or my skillful theft, his allies gone in the wind, his men turning on each other like rabid dogs. And in that rubble, I am going to let him know that he is nothing without me,” Cass described, finishing off her martini and setting the glass down on the table. She smirked as Ransom’s eyes noted the lipstick mark identified along the rim of the glass, matching the curve of her full lips.

“Mathias West made a grave error passing over me for Byrne. If I can’t have my birthright, no one can.” The downright vengeful gleam in her sultry eyes made Ransom understand how hellbent she was on destroying her father. The West empire would end in a hard fall without Cassiopeia carrying them on her shoulders.

“Well, it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Princess.” Ransom declared as they stood, him looking down at her. He couldn’t help the drastic height difference despite Cass’s choice in heels. Knowing the procedure, Cass held out her hand to Ransom. She had yet to draw up a contract, but a handshake was as good as a signature with mob bosses. The honor system acted as a double-edged sword to enforce mutually assured destruction should one of them turn their back on an agreement.

Ransom shook Cass’s hand firmly before he turned it over, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed the back of her palm. Cass raised her brow but rolled her eyes at his cheesy move. Cass knew she was trading one Devil for another by aligning with Ransom over her father. Her father proved that he couldn’t be trusted and that she didn’t know him at all. Ransom was proving to be quite familiar to her sentiments and her circumstances, which made him the devil she knew. And like the old saying goes—better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.


	4. Chapter 4

The upscale restaurant would be a nice treat for Cass if it weren’t for the awkward atmosphere between her and her mother. She hadn’t seen her parents since the nasty argument over her and Byrne’s arranged engagement or since she switched allegiances under cover of night to work with Ransom Drysdale. She would’ve continued avoiding them until her mother sent her a formal request for lunch together, just the two of them.

That was something Cass couldn’t afford to ignore, much to her chagrin.

So, she sat across from her mother sternly examining the menu for something palatable for their “refined” tastes. At the same time, Cass prayed for the sweet release of death as she disinterestedly fiddled with her fork. The light scraping of the fork’s prongs across the tablecloth drew Meredith’s attention, and that morphed into stern annoyance with her daughter.

“Cassiopeia, stop playing with your fork. You’re not some child and can sort out your restless energy elsewhere.” She scolded, waiting for Cass’s head to lift and acknowledge her scorn. Cass quietly set the fork down but refused to give her the satisfaction of looking at her. Meredith huffed yet returned to her menu in her cold shoulder attempt to shame her daughter. See, that required Cass to have some regret or shame over standing up for herself.

Cass painfully bit her tongue, knowing the overwhelming urge to snap would send her mother into a nuclear state. It was not about the fork, but her refusal to do as she was told like a good obedient daughter and marry the sack of flesh with the intelligence of a sack of bricks that was Julius “The Brute” Byrne. Frankly, the bullshit attempt to placate her with an undesirable marriage would never work, even with the “right” groom, as Cass held no desire to be married. When she had a successful career in her reach and her once proud role within her family’s enterprise, she didn’t have the desire to put her ambitions on the backburner for her partner’s.

The choice of fiancée was purely insulting to her intelligence, sense of worth, and practically a demotion in the gene pool. So, she refused to agree to a sham engagement and would take a stand, whether her mother liked it or not.

Cass heard footsteps approached and refused to look up at who she assumed was their server for the meal, even at his friendly, “Good afternoon, ladies. Welcome to Château de la Mer- can I get something started for you? 

“Yes, we’ll be taking your countryside charcuterie board as an appetizer and a bottle of house red to split-” Meredith sharply ordered, staring at the young man with borderline contempt behind her wide-rimmed sunglasses for the outdoor porch seating. 

“Actually, I’d prefer a Negroni. If possible, could you ensure a Cinzano Rosso for the vermouth?” Cass interjected smoothly, folding her menu closed. She flicked her eyes upward and glanced at her mother across the table, trying not to smirk. See, her mother never ordered any alcoholic drink outside of red wine as she believed harder liquors were unbefitting of a proper lady. Needless to say, Cass’s affection for whiskey and classic cocktails would stoke the tension between them and needle away at Meredith with maximum pettiness intended.

This was the game Cass found to be her strong suit, and it felt like adding another five years or so onto her life whenever she slipped in a small victory against her family.

“An excellent choice-” The waiter, a young man named Daniel, wilted from secondhand exposure underneath the aggressive glare of Meredith West, who looked about ten seconds from murdering her daughter. He scribbled something down and scampered off, “I’ll be right back with those orders, ladies.”

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Meredith hissed, insistent on keeping her voice low and out of the reach of their fellow dinners at nearby tables. The two of them were notable figures in Boston's elite circles, and getting caught having a blowout would be splashed across the front page of every tabloid magazine. Meredith refused to have her daughter stain their “spotless” reputation, but Cass gripped the argument like a Molotov cocktail and looked ready to set the picture-perfect lie ablaze.

“Looked like ordering a drink to me, Meredith?” Cass clicked her tongue sarcastically, pushing back against her faux indignation with a smidge of glee. “After all, I am twenty-seven and a woman of the twenty-first century who can make decisions about having a career, my body, and who I date-”

“This again? Cassiopeia Lydia West, I didn’t raise you to-” Meredith, before she finished her lecture, earned a paralyzing glare from Cass. She refused to listen to this hypocritical, pearl-clutching nonsense from her mother. The audacity of this woman to claim that she was an involved mother could make Cass descend into hysterical, mad laughter before promptly finishing her cocktail and flipping the table onto its side. But she wouldn’t be so cruel to the waitstaff, who did nothing wrong and were innocent victims in this battle of wills between the two West women.

“That would’ve required you to raise me, instead of shipping me to finishing and boarding schools or avoided dealing with me by attending brunches. Only so much raising you could do with a mimosa in one hand and the other occupied with the infinite number of pedicures you purchased as you begrudged spending money on the debate team for me.” Cass swiftly reminded, refusing to entertain a false reality. Although she pouted with the innocence of a wounded fawn, she became the snarling wolf underneath. She had plenty of dirty little secrets from her shit childhood she could weaponize against her mother’s negligent memory, which she had no shame in doing.

Meredith sneered, appalled by Cass’s unfiltered mouth and her audacity to speak back to her so rudely. She was her mother, and that demanded more respect from the ungrateful woman sitting across from her. She and Mathias did everything for their daughter to spit in their faces, “You’re a petulant brat.”

“Where do you think I learned it from? At least, I made successes of my own creation.” Cass retorted, and she witnessed as Meredith reeled but couldn’t come back with anything to counter. Deep down, she knew that Cass’s point became irrefutable and that Meredith, having done nothing beyond be a socialite that came from money and married into money, would sound hollow in her criticism. 

She forcibly cleared her throat when the nervous waiter approached with their drinks, flinching as Cass happily accepted hers from him and indulged in an exaggerated sip—all for her mother. Meredith appeared to tremble in pure rage and didn’t acknowledge their waiter setting down her full glass of wine before her. He mumbled something about giving them a few more minutes to decide on their orders and retreated to the safety of the kitchen.

Even he could sense the explosion impending from Meredith and wanted to be as far away from the danger as possible. Cass didn’t blame him.

“Why? Why can’t you just go along with what your father and I have decided is best for you?” Meredith questioned with an exasperation borne of over two decades of Cass’s rebellion against her. She always played the “bad parent” in Cassiopeia’s Grecian tragedy while Mathias lived as the infallible idol who the young West would obey without fail. However, the new development of the decided engagement severed that bond between them cleanly yet with a messy fallout.

“I could ask the same question of you two,” Cass outright refused to box herself into blame or shame for reacting as she did. She felt undoubtedly justified to consider herself slighted. Spend twenty or so years believing that you will inherit the family’s business—their pride and joy—that you dedicated your life to, only for it to be ripped away and given to someone undeserving or an enemy. Her father and mother knew what their empire meant to them, but that bridge was far too burned to repair. It was tainted under Byrne’s greedy hands, and she refused to accept it any longer.

Taking a sip of her drink, Cass prompted for an answer with more sneering comments like, “Why did you choose Byrne as a husband when he is my inferior? Did the market of eligible men suddenly dry up? Is Byrne, the arrogant fool, the last man on the planet for me to fuck?”

“Don’t be so crude-” Meredith disgustedly gasped, visibly appalled with Cass’s choice of words to describe Byrne’s intentions. However, her outrage felt far from denial, and Cass capitalized on the falter. Her mother’s weakness: she was a piss-poor debater.

“That is what he wants with me, Meredith. He said as much to me when he cornered me in the hallway and likely would’ve humped my leg like a randy dog. So, answer me why-” Cass growled out, demanding an answer. She leaned forward, her eyes boring bullet holes into her mother with nothing but a hardened glare.

Meredith swallowed, undeniably intimidated under the glare, “Your father decided-”

“-to endanger our entire operation when gifting it to a brainless baboon who gets too trigger-happy and could be outsmarted by a raccoon? I agree and can see our downfall barreling toward us. We shall descend into ugly destruction with Byrne at the helm because our enemies are smarter than his selection gives them credit for. Our arrogant underestimation shall spell death for the Wests, and that will signal the end of the lavish lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to. We’d be lucky if most of us avoided jail, life on the streets, or death.”

Cass’s ominous warning shook Meredith to her core, evidenced when her face drained of its color and her lips parted open. The consequences sucked, didn’t they? Hellbent, Cass determined she would win the battle of wills, yet that likely wouldn’t change their minds.

“Byrne wasn’t my first choice,” Meredith mentioned weakly like her defense would quell Cass’s simmering anger. It went over poorly with Cass, as expected.

Her laughter came, rowdy and dripping with sarcasm, and Meredith shifted uncomfortably when noticing several nearby tables snapping to look in their direction. Cass seemed far from mortified by the attention. Her motto: _let them stare_.

She dismissively waved off the lie and shook her head with disbelief that Meredith believed she was dumb enough to believe that. “Wasn’t he? You seem to go along with it without pause.” The two halted their conversation as Daniel approached their table with the appetizer that Meredith ordered, setting it down in the middle. He shrunk back when two pairs of eyes landed on him as the air felt rife with tension.

“We need one order of the mushroom risotto, and my daughter shall have the veal chops with garlic roasted potatoes,” Meredith remarked and with silent confirmation from Cass, determining an agreement. Daniel hustled away, letting Meredith sigh and pinch the bridge of her artificially narrowed nose. “I find him boorish and insufferable. I believe we might agree on that, but only a certain type of man might tolerate your sharp tongue, insolence, and ambitions.”

“Byrne is not that type-” Cass retorted, biting back a scoff. Byrne’s insecurities swelled to the size of Jupiter when in her presence, not to brag. He believed that women had their place while she didn’t, thereby cementing the unequal respect dynamic that made a mere alliance impossible—let alone a marriage. However, an epiphany flashed before her eyes, and Cass nearly cackled when she realized an opportunity for discord laid before her.

See, Meredith long expected that she would wear Cass down enough to agree and marry a trust fund baby from their social circle, therefore “domesticating her” and stopping the mobster nonsense. Marrying Byrne would destroy those dreams and cause a thread of resentment between Meredith and Mathias.

But she could potentially use her mother for her gain. If she lied and convinced her mother that she “wanted” a non-mobster, she could sow division and in-fighting over her marriage prospects. The fighting might result in getting free from the marriage and buy her more time to thwart the West enterprise to its demise.

“You wouldn’t understand why Byrne as your choice upsets me. He’s not what I want-” Cass protested quietly, softening her approach. She watched as she lured her mother in, a good enough actress to captivate her attention.

“Then, what do you want?” Meredith sighed, expecting a tirade against the “antiquated ideology that women need a husband to handle their basic needs or guide their ambitions established within the patriarchal society” or something similar. She sat through such nonsensical drivel from Cass before, regretting letting her attend college. Of all the weapons Cassiopeia gravitated towards, intellect became her favorite and most dangerous to Meredith’s ambitions of a high society engagement.

“Someone normal,” Cass huffed with subtle resignation, and that response plunged Meredith into speechlessness. Swallowing back a triumphant grin, Cass stared sullenly at her lap and waited for her mother to withdraw from a state of shock. 

Meredith let out a shuddering breath, praying that she hadn’t misheard her daughter. This had been her dream since Cass was young, determined to make her the most desirable match to boost their reputation further up the social ladder. “What did you say?”

“Someone normal. You know, more like our public personas than someone who knows what I do behind the scenes or someone who is not involved with that life. I don’t know whether or not I desire to stay in the game forever, especially since my expertise gets taken for granted by foolish men-” Cass did her best not to gag as she sounded like a caricature of herself, but her mother seemed convinced by the act. She watched as Meredith’s expression predictively wavered, crumbling down and right into her hands.

Cass had her where she wanted her, perfectly positioned for the spin. She should thank Meredith for being such a manipulative bitch because she learned and refined her craft.

“You do?” Meredith sucked in a breath, not sold on her daughter’s sudden reversal on something she vehemently fought against. However, it seemed clear that she wanted to believe it to be true for her sake, “Are you sure?”

Cass nodded, pretending in earnest. Perhaps she should petition for an Oscar for the pleasing performance live in real-time. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I received invitations for an event later in the month. Your father was supposed to attend with me, but he informed me that he didn’t wish to go. If you promise to be on your best behavior, I can bring you with me, and we’ll start a renewed hunt for a replacement for Byrne. Can you swear that you shall mind your manners?” Meredith questioned sternly, not willing to extend energy or grace for ungracious behavior from her daughter.

“I will mind my manners,” Cass promised, avoiding flashing an insincere grin or conveying how little she cared about manners. She won and could withstand the stupidity of a gala or similar event, should that mean her “engagement” to Byrne begins to decay with the masterminds behind the decision.

“Good. I shall arrange a visit to the seamstress and see what gowns she can design for the event. We want you to stand out from any other girl that shows. A beautiful gown helps greatly to entice a proposal out of a well-to-do gentleman, alongside manners-” Meredith plucked several pieces of cheese or sliced meats from the charcuterie board with a toothpick, biting into them as she reached for her phone.

“Yes, of course.” Cass parroted blankly, plastering on a fake smile that didn’t reach her eyes as they didn’t need to. Internally, she relished in her victory while Meredith preened with the assumption that she emerged the winner. On the contrary, her mother fell for her lies, gullible, and a pawn in her long-term strategy. She and Ransom reached a step closer to destroying Byrne, her father, and all they stood for.

She would watch her father’s world burn before her eyes, feel the embers on her skin, the ashes in her lungs, and the birth of her freedom rising like the phoenix with scorching beauty.


	5. Chapter 5

With places to be and a meeting with Ransom to get to, Cass turned her convertible into a speeding red bullet driving down the backroads to the city. Talking strategy would be their first priority, should Ransom take the sit-down seriously and not as an opportunity to flirt with her incessantly. The breeze tempestuously swirled around her and took her loose hair with it to whip around, somehow not bothersome to her.

She adjusted her rearview mirror, admiring the empty road behind her to mirror the vast expanse of marked asphalt stretched out before her too. She liked the quiet, preferred it to everything but the ambient noises of upscale bars and the backrooms of casinos where secret poker games occurred. She reached down to flick the radio station to something more her taste when her phone buzzed with an incoming call, which she assumed belonged to Ransom. She safely pulled off to the side of the road to avoid an accident or a run-in with a cop, picking up the call.

“Hello?” She answered the line, not checking the caller ID. She expected to hear Ransom’s flirtatious greeting, but her jaw clenched when she heard another voice. The smirk was evident through the other side. She clicked her tongue, “What do you want, Byrne?”

 _“Is that any way to greet me, Cassiopeia? I am entitled to your respect, now that I am the underboss-”_ Byrne mused on the other end of the line, growling out his title when it seemed Cass refused to acknowledge what was his. He knew she wanted what he earned; everyone knew that.

Cass huffed deridingly as she observed the audacity of Byrne to think he could order her around. “I don’t give a fuck what you think you’re entitled to. Either tell me why you’re calling or leave me alone. Those are your options, and I’ll ask you to pick one before I choose.”

 _“Fine,”_ Byrne snapped, and Cass resisted a flinch from what sounded like something fragile being thrown. She merely felt bad toward the cleaning staff who would pick up after Byrne’s episodic bouts of rage that left him looking like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. He gruffly continued, _“We have a meeting, West estate, at once. Be there or don’t, but you should avoid angering me further.”_

His end of the line went dead, punctuated with the disgusted eye roll that Cass felt unable to contain. She never thought Byrne one for dramatics, but she supposed the power filled that empty head of his with hot air instead of empty space.

“Why the hell are we holding another meeting so soon?” Cass mumbled to herself, texting Ransom that she needed to make a detour before she would make it to his place. She dropped the phone back into her purse and pulled back onto the room, whipping out a U-turn and speeding down the way she came toward Sycamore Lane. She had passed it maybe fifteen or so minutes before, thankful she hadn’t gotten too far into the city before getting the call.

As much as she despised the thought of appeasing him, her desire for revenge required her to be trusted by her father and the other men. That left her with no other option but to attend this meeting and carefully walk the line between complete submission, which would seem out of character and arouse suspicions, and pointed rebellion. She could drag her feet on the engagement and protest that, but the business side of things should remain “untouched.”

Luckily, Cass fancied herself a decent actress and committed herself to sell the lie, no matter how painful the lie to her pride. It would all be worth it; it had to be.

She rolled up to the mansion’s wrought iron gates sooner than she expected, knowing she broke the speed limit more than once or twice. She coasted between the gates and pulled her car to a stop outside the heart of the crowded driveway, wanting an easy out when she inevitably slinked out of the meeting.

“Good evening, Miss West!” The guards exclaimed in fervent greeting, earning no response as Cass sauntered past them and through the foyer. She wanted to get the meeting over with, not wanting to waste time on them. She spent all morning in court, dealing with preliminary hearings and arraignments for the favors her father owed people. She knew it needling at him that she turned out the better lawyer, higher in demand from his most loyal clients. His petty revenge came in passing her the cases he found undesirable, seemingly forgetful that she spun any trial into a victory with an undefeated winning streak. But the point remained, dealing with Byrne’s ignorant mouth ranked at the bottom of things she felt like handling after a long day.

Cass flared out the blazer of her [classic pinstripe power suit](https://sc01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB14Il4MpXXXXbfXXXXq6xXFXXX2/200014304/HTB14Il4MpXXXXbfXXXXq6xXFXXX2.jpg) before stepping into the room and steeled her poise—refusing to let Byrne get under her skin. She pushed open the door, and the room fell silent with reverence for her, some of the men recognizing her authority more than Byrne’s when rising to their feet.

“Ah, the Duchess finally decided to show up, notably late.” Byrne snappily replied to her presence, not above poking at her tardiness. Cass’s eyes narrowed, and she considered reminding him of his lackluster reminder when she noticed something off: her father wasn’t standing at the head of the table.

“Where’s my father?” She questioned, pointedly ignoring Byrne’s attempts at humor and the uncomfortable shuffling that ensued from the other men. She noticed heads turning away from hers, fighting against the compulsion to spill their guts. Cass narrowed her eyes and slammed the door behind her, making a few men flinch. That wouldn’t do—she demanded an answer from the men reeking of guilt and mutiny across their rumpled collars to their suits and washed out faces in the dark of the study.

“He’s not here, Miss West,” Rusty admitted, bowing his head with shame, and no one dared look Cass in the eye when she swept her gaze across the room. She couldn’t believe how everyone rolled over to Byrne’s authority in fear, despite knowing he was more of a bumbling fool than the mastermind they needed. She thought West men held more mettle in them than sniveling dogs, but the sight before her felt pathetic.

Seething, she growled through her clenched jaw, “Then, why are we running this meeting without him? Does anyone want to answer me?” Silence lapsed, leaving room for a fight crackling in the air with the same pungent taste as ozone from a brewing storm. In the room stood an undeniable force of nature prepared to devastate anything in her anger’s path.

“He’s not coming, sweetheart.” Byrne declared, instantly plunging the room into ice-cold fear from how quickly the bystanders' faces contorted into a panic. Cass’s expression remained eerily calm as she slinked across the room, bringing herself to invade his personal space.

Although Byrne prided himself on his intimidation factor, he shrunk into himself when Cass leaned forward into him without a spoken flicker of anger. He knew that, beneath the emotionless visage, danger awaited him with another word slipping out.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me sweetheart,” She spat, venomous enough to kill a man where he stood. She glanced around. Her father would never sanction a meeting where he wasn’t present; _he was too much of a paranoid control freak for that_. However, she knew that Byrne’s loyalty wasn’t the beacon of excellence that her father believed it to be, and she felt her lip curl. He barely waited before attempting his hand at seizing power for himself, “I know my father didn’t call this meeting—you did. You thought you should go behind my father’s back and pretend like you know what you’re doing? You are stupider than I could’ve imagined, but perhaps that’s the arrogance leading.”

Byrne scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at her. She was merely upset that it wasn’t her calling the shots. “Cassiopeia, please-”

“So, if I called him right now, he would vouch for you?” Cass leaned against the table with one arm, tapping her almond-shaped nails against the tabletop. The gesture unsettled those around her, causing them to want to reactively confess. She surveyed Byrne’s lack of an intelligent answer, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Your father and mother entrusted the empire to me. Did you forget who the underboss is?” Byrne replied, almost sounding like a taunt _. Oh, she didn’t forget that travesty._ However, she refused to let him think he got under her skin.

“Did you forget your title is worthless until the boss is six feet under? Last I checked, my father isn’t dead yet- unless there’s something you’d like to tell us.” Cass reminded, with accusations unspoken resting on her tongue. Those around them, witnessing the argument, couldn’t help the fleeting thought where the likelihood that Byrne would depose of Mathias existed. None could reasonably deny that possibility existed with frightening odds.

Byrne remained pointedly silent, but he appeared fuming at the insinuation. Cass didn’t care, however. She turned away from him, showing him that he wasn’t worth her time. “Your status means fucking nothing- Imagine what would happen my father found out you were making moves behind his back? I don’t think you thought this through.”

“We shall strike a divisive victory against the Pretty Boy, show Mathias that he made a proper choice in passing his leadership onto sharper minds.” Byrne pivoted, clumsily, but the others were eager to escape from the blowback from Cass. Byrne leaned forward and whispered to the crowd, “I happened to discover the location of an important Thromby warehouse under Drysdale’s jurisdiction. The site is where they handle their racketeering exports, and I’m guessing that a shipment should come in soon. I say that we stage a raid and rob them blind. Maybe we kill a few of the bastards along the way for good measure?”

While some cheers rose from the table, Cass openly wrinkled her nose. She wouldn’t hide her distaste for such a mediocre excuse for a plan, nor would she relish when the rush to impress her father turned into a bloody mess. If she were in charge, she would run a more furtive yet effective method of ruin. For example, she would sneak past the guards or knock them out, plant evidence on the scene that would warrant a police investigation like controlled substances, and leave an anonymous tip with the police to find the planted evidence.

Byrne reveled in the reactions from those ardently supporting his plan, the praise soothing his bruised ego. The thrill faded quickly when the cheers died off, and all in attendance noticed Cass’s disapproving scowl. Byrne clenched his jaw, “You have something to say, Cassiopeia?”

At least he learned to avoid ‘sweetheart.’

“Your plan is sloppy, reckless, and reminiscent of an amateur thug with delusions of grandeur. Let me enlighten you as to where I find massive flaws in your little raid.” Cass popped open the button of her blazer with intention, drawing all eyes onto her. She demanded attention, “You run with the assumption that this warehouse is left undefended for our men to infiltrate when the likely outcome is that warehouse will be crawling with enemy guns. Dead of the night or not, Ransom Drysdale is not foolish enough to leave his property without proper safeguards. Not to mention, resorting to strictly violence will gather unwanted attention or raise the alarm with authorities. Those don’t begin to cover the finer nuanced points of why this idea should be relegated to the ash heap of this gathering.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion-”

“You did,” Cass snappily corrected, giving some of the nearby witnesses whiplash. She maintained a disinterested glare as she decided to fuel doubts in the men. “But you’ve decided to take a reckless gamble with the lives of our men. If any of them die or are harmed, that blood will sit on your hands. I know you get off to smashing heads in and riddling bodies with bullets, but ill-planned attempts like this will result badly for us and not the Drysdale clan.”

A tense silence attached itself to the end of Cass’s ominous warning and clearly unsettled some of the older members at the meeting. Cass had an uncanny talent for these operations, and her judgment reigned supreme, even above Mathias’s. Byrne, however, wouldn’t let Cass dissuade him from glory.

“We’ll set the raid for two weeks from now, the seventeenth at midnight. Volunteers will be rewarded for their bravery when we snatch the bounty of weapons these sons of bitches have waiting.” Byrne ignored Cass’s methodical dissolution of his suggestion, and her nose flared. It would be such a shame that his little raid would be a colossal bust when the Drysdale guards fended them off successfully—bad luck, she supposed.

Before Byrne relished in the opportunity to dismiss everyone, Cass wordlessly rose from her seat and walked for the door. She glanced over her shoulder with a glare, “Don’t expect me to participate in this farce of a mission. I have more respect for my father than the rest of you in this room, it seems.”

Then, she left.

She guessed that her reaction might sow discord and guilt among those present, not wanting to incur the anger of Mathias West for their disobedience. Small actions like that would prime the West enterprise to sink like the Titanic. She smoothly jogged down the stairs and pushed through the front doors of her family’s mansion, needing to get to Ransom’s place before it got too late.

She briskly approached her car, putting her phone to her ear. As she passed the back wheel, she stopped when her instincts screamed at her. Since she left the meeting ahead of the others, she couldn’t shake the needling suspicion that Byrne would look for opportunities to control her. Instantly, Cass imagined that—if she were Byrne—what would be her go-to for gathering information on a perceived threat.

_Track them, surveillance._

She knew that she didn’t let anyone close enough to touch her or slip anything into her purse, which meant they would put the tracker where they assumed she wouldn’t find it. Her eyes flitted back to her cherry red convertible and clicked her tongue, color her disappointed with the unimaginative plan. She glanced around to see no one in view of the driveway and knelt down, prepared to lie and say she dropped her lipstick tube underneath her car. She leaned forward and angled her head, spotting the blinking little box hooked to the bottom of her car. If she didn’t know what to search for, she would’ve missed the device hidden in plain sight. 

_A GPS car tracker? How innovative._

Cass yanked it from her car and smirked. Did Byrne think her that stupid as not to check her car or keep on her guard? Byrne would need to do better if he planned on getting dirt on her because she was no amateur. She never trusted anyone fully, not in her business.

She admired the flimsy, cheap thing with narrowed eyes and a streak of wickedness coursing through her veins. She dropped it on the floor, crushed it beneath her heel with a satisfying crunch, and finished with a surprisingly strong kick to send it skittering beneath another car parked in the driveway. She gave herself at least a three-hour head start before someone realized her tracker “malfunctioned,” the thought filling her with glee.

She opened the doors to her car and waited for the other line to pick up; she had her intended appointment to get to. The dial tone stopped as the line picked up, and Cass slid into her car, starting the engine. She didn’t wait for the greeting before saying, “It’s me. Care for a drink?”


	6. Chapter 6

Cass wasted no time when arriving at the Rye Room. She walked in like she owned the place and made a beeline for the bar, ignoring the stares garnered by her boldness. She had no interest in concerning herself with the opinions of others. She was on business, nothing more. She agreed to wait at the bar for Ransom to lead her back into his office and sat on the stool, drawing the eyes of the bartender.

“Ah, Boss is expecting you,” He gruffly mentioned, and Cass nodded affirmingly. Good to see Ransom hadn’t forgotten their appointment.

Cass laced her hands together, crossed her legs at the ankles, and smirked, “I’ll wait here for him.” Her decision earned a nod from the bartender. Ransom told his staff to treat Cass like another patron but keep an eye on her if they must or feel suspicious about her intentions. Otherwise, they accept her as a new fixture of the Rye Room until other orders come along.

Cass watched the bartender walk away and settled into her chair, expecting Ransom to come sooner rather than later. She pulled out her phone, content to scroll through work emails and other important business while waiting. Patrons warily eyed her, but none were brave enough to confront her outright.

These patrons were unaware of the deal but knew enough that Cass shouldn’t be there. Wests and Thromby-Drysdales didn’t mix well, promising a rain of fire and brimstone on all involved in the business. While those scattered through the bar feared invoking the wrath of the Wests, some weren’t content to let her be without warning as to where she should take her business. Hint: elsewhere.

Eventually, someone among the crowd mustered up enough courage to push off their table and march toward her. Cass heard footsteps approaching behind her and spun the stool around, facing an unknown man. He might seem menacing to anyone else, but Cass barely flinched when taking in the disgusted expression of the man. Quick eyes surveyed a rumpled suit two sizes too big to hide a smaller frame, a jagged scar running diagonally across his left eye, and brokenly chapped lips curled into a sneer. She’d call him ‘Scarface’ for nothing else but kicks and the absence of a proper name since she wouldn’t care enough to ask.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, lady,” Scarface spat at Cass, her face perfectly flat in that trademark poker face. She silently raked her eyes up a second time, trying to find what to be intimidated by and failing to find anything. Her stoic response—or lack thereof—infuriated him, taking it as audacity to defy the natural order of things. He huffed angrily, “Don’t you know that your kind ain’t welcome here?”

He leaned on the bar, purposely getting close enough to menace her without drawing too much notice from the other patrons. That plan clearly wasn’t working as dozens of patrons snuck glances at the scene, observing with bated breath as to what might happen next. Cassiopeia West’s fury comprised the likes of a cautionary tale as those who pissed her off enough never made that mistake twice—or got the chance to test the waters.

Cass reached into her purse and pulled out what appeared to be a mint, popping it between her teeth. She swirled it around on her tongue deliberately slow, bursting into laughter. She was laughing at him, which was pointedly obvious. “Let me give you a piece of advice, pal- I don’t give a fuck what you think about me or my ‘kind.’ I don’t have business with you, so you best be walking off. Oh, and maybe consider investing in a mint for that rancid breath you’ve got going on.”

“Why you little-” Scarface raised his fist over his head, but a force held him back. He looked to his left to see the familiar brown overcoat of Ransom Drysdale, and he didn’t look remotely happy. “-Mr. Drysdale!” 

“You better tell me this isn’t what it looks like, or we’re going to have a problem,” Ransom stated, his statement pronounced in a fit of anger that ran ice cold. The words running off his tongue were piercingly callous, and the once amenable ambiance of The Rye Room felt suffocated under uncomfortable tension. The patrons were shocked to see the flippant, dastardly suave Ransom Drysdale lose his temper over any woman, let alone his supposed enemy. None knew what to make of the sight, but perhaps he planned to stop a fight and deal with Cass himself.

None were brave enough to insert themselves before, and none would dare to try with Ransom and Cassiopeia there. Ransom looked ‘Scarface’ dead in the eyes and huffed, “Lenny, I asked you a question, and I don’t think a non-answer helps you out.”

Lenny’s face paled when Ransom snapped out his name, where even his eyes seemed to lose signs of life before going catatonic. He knew, at the bottom of his heart, that he was a dead man. So, he started stammering under Ransom and Cass’s glares, “I thought I was defending the bar- She’s a West-” 

“I don’t give a damn what you think you were doing,” Ransom growled, not humoring anyone subverting his will. If Cass was there, it was under his direction. He let go of Lenny’s hand and observed as Lenny rubbed at his wrist protectively. Feeling somewhat in a generous mood tonight, Ransom decided to let him off with a warning and some repenting. He glared at the cowering little weasel in Lenny and declared, “Now, apologize to the lady.”

“Apologies, Miss West-” Lenny stammered out, but Cass care enough to let him finish some groveling. She clicked her tongue and glanced out at the rest of the patrons with a wicked glare, daring all of them to try their luck with her. No eyes willingly took her challenge, filling her with undeniable satisfaction.

“I would suggest you get out of my sight and stay there.” Cass coldly ordered, and Lenny bolted without waiting to be told twice. Cowardly he came, and a bigger coward he would leave. Once Lenny disappeared from sight, Cass turned to face Ransom with a raised brow, “What took you so long? I was waiting.”

“Handling some last-minute business, Princess,” Ransom said, observing her dragging her purse from the counter and gracefully sliding from the stool onto the floor. His eyes dropped down with her, still shorter than him with the unbearably tall height of her heels. He offered his arm, but Cass glared at him—she wasn’t going to take his arm. Not remotely fazed, Ransom smoothly brushed off his coat and said, “You’ll see momentarily.”

“Lucky for your staff, you came in the nick of time. Any later, and I can’t guarantee that Lenny wouldn’t be a bloody stain on your nice hardwood floors. You really should’ve invested in marble or something easier to clean than cherry oak flooring.” Cass mused with a smirk, knowing that her Beretta sat in her purse. It waited for the given moment that someone endangered her life or got a little too high and mighty for their station because a bullet worked magic.

Ransom led them to the back office area, and Cass expected him to take her into his office, repeating their last meeting. However, Ransom walked past the door to his office and approached the door marked with an exit sign. He pushed open the door, glancing back at Cass when he noticed her straying back where his office was. Confusion marked her face as to where he thought he was going.

Ransom sighed, running his hands through his hair, “Look, Princess, I’m not going to shoot you or anything. If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done so already without a shred of remorse. So, stop eyeing me for a gun, and let’s go.”

“I didn’t think that.” Cass denied, rolling her eyes and shunning Ransom to stare at the delicate curve of her profile. Ransom quirked a brow at her indignant reaction to his guess, telling him he likely hit closer to the mark than she liked.

“I thought you were supposed to be a better liar,” Ransom snappily retorted, showing that he didn’t believe her as much as she didn’t believe him. Cass treated him to silence, filled with undeniable detestation. He groaned when realizing they would fall into an impasse should he keep pushing, and it burned him to think he should be the mature one about this. He lived for the taunt, the instigation of it all, but Cass seemed unfairly immune to his bait. So, Ransom held his hand out, “C’mon, nothing bad will happen. I just decided on a change of scene for our meeting. You’ll thank me later.”

Although Cass doubted that, she figured that her choices were limited in what to do. She hardly considered protesting the change worth it as it brought her nothing to play along, and she didn’t think Ransom had the desire to kill her. She was of value to him, arguably too valuable to dispose of or put into harm’s way. As unfortunate as it was, they needed each other. Ransom required her intel to eliminate her father’s threat to his domination, and she needed Ransom to ensure her father received punishment for his crimes.

The circumstances forced her hand, meaning she would work with Ransom. That didn’t mean she had to enjoy herself or become his friend. Once the job finished, she would walk out of his life and from the game for good. She planned on figuring out her next moves when that time drew closer as the tide of battle remained uncertain on who would emerge victoriously.

Cass eyed him warily before closing the gap standing between him and her, not having reached for her Beretta. She reached his side and walked through the door, cautious not to take her eyes off him for a moment. A moment was all anyone needed to get the jump on you. “Fine, but you better realize that I will kill you if this is a trap-”

“I’ve been put on notice.” Ransom deadpanned, catching up with her while they moved through the shadows of the back alley. The darkness of the evening cloaked them in and the walls of the alley in shadows, leaving Cass and Ransom barely able to see beyond each other and a few feet ahead. Under the darkness, Ransom discreetly reached out and rested his hand along the small of her back. The touch of his fingers against her body felt like accidentally hitting a live wire, freezing her in place with numbness blossoming through her. Her body buzzed with static energy that touched the greatness of electricity, kicking in Cass’s distrust. Without speaking, she slapped Ransom’s hand off her and shot him an exasperated glare he noticed when they passed under a patch of light.

Ransom pulled his hand back with an exaggerated pout, getting the message. He stopped before a door shy of the mouth of the alley, stepping forward to knock on it twice. The knock seemed enough as the door flew open, and a tall, willowy woman dressed in a work uniform greeted them. She took one look at Ransom with wide eyes before stepping out of his and Cass’s path.

“Ah, Mr. Drysdale! Your table is ready,” She exclaimed, ushering the two into the restaurant from the alley and quickly closing the door once they made it inside. She led them through the kitchen and the double doors into a fancy dining room, devoid of people. Toward the back of the room, Cass noticed a private table set for two when spotting the flickering candle as the centerpiece.

The woman, who Cass realized was a waitress, brought them to that table and smiled at them, scurrying off with the rushed promise of getting them drinks. Cass looked at Ransom, unwilling to smile and wave about this odd decision. 

Cass picked up her fork from her silverware bundle and glanced up at Ransom, seated across from her, “You brought me to an empty restaurant during prime patronage hours to merely talk business? I’ve heard of this restaurant before and know damn well it comes with a hefty price tag, which seems far more than cut and dry business. If this is your seduction attempt, consider me unimpressed-”

“The owner owes me a favor, and I decided to call in a simple return. Don’t look at me like you’ve never cultivated IOUs-” Ransom smoothly smirked, nonchalant about name-dropping favors and turning the tables on Cass. She cracked her neck, setting her fork down again. She felt suspicious about his motives, but that was par for the course when it came to Ransom.

Nothing personal, but she didn’t trust anyone. Not anymore-

“So, do you want to know what I know?” Cass questioned, eyes immediately landing on the extra dirty martini set before her. She ignored Ransom’s chuckle at how her expression went cross-eyed as a martini entered her sight. She could use the drink after the shitshow that meeting with Byrne ended up becoming. She shook her head silently, disgusted with how far the empire had fallen with Byrne’s irresponsible ass at the helm of it. She almost believed her father wanted this to happen, but such a thought would be wishful naiveite.

“That’s why you called me, isn’t it- Unless you wanted to spend time with me, Princess?” Ransom’s lips spread into a wolfish grin as he lifted the matching martini he ordered for himself. He did love a good martini. Their waitress hustled away with the directive to leave them be, only coming around to refill their drinks or bring the food.

“In your dreams,” Cass scoffed disgustedly, not humoring his attempt at flirtation. He acted like a dog with a bone, determined to charm his way into her bed. There came the small snag that she refused to let him think he had any chance. She swirled the olive skewer around the martini glass when recalling the meeting. Hearing Byrne’s voice filled her with enough anger to encourage another drink. “The plan—if you could even call it that—reeks of the impatience belonging to an amateur.”

Ransom leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his martini. Hearing the contempt for Byrne in Cass’s voice filled him with such satisfaction. Their common enemies were the glue holding them together, “Not surprising, but what do we know? Details, locations?”

“Oh, I know everything.” Cass boasted, admiring her sharpened nails from where they curled around the slim handle of the glass holding her martini. She wouldn’t come for a meeting without the relevant information. “They set for the seventeenth, at midnight. They intend on pillaging your family’s stash of weapons for themselves, raid the warehouse for anything useful, and seem keen on taking a few heads. They operate under the assumption that you have your supplies so poorly stashed because of the late hour. Byrne is so confident that he’s calling for volunteers instead of arranging a proper team, leaving himself open to bad luck.” 

Ransom shook his head, disappointed by the clumsy moves of his new competition. Byrne clearly proved himself an unfit tactician to create something this flawed. “Location?”

“The Salem warehouse, on the east side of the docks,” Cass informed, and Ransom knew exactly which warehouse was under attack. His family only had one warehouse in Salem and was guarded decently, but they could revamp their security plans to protect their assets adequately.

“I know the one. I’ll pass the information on as that technically falls under Thromby territory, which means that it’ll be that side of the family to decide what to do about it. But I must say that your thoroughness doesn’t leave anything lacking.”

Cass held up her hand, stopping herself mid-drink. She swallowed and smirked, “Oh, and pass along the idea that I don’t want your men going easy on them-”

Ransom chuckled, dropping his eyes down, “Good girl.”

“Ransom, I have a gun on me, and I’m not above bodily harm.” Cass reminded coldly, without flinching or missing a beat. Her eyes punctuated her statement, elevating it to a promise.

“I’ll stick with Princess then.” Ransom casually took another sip of his drink, jaw bobbing when he clenched it. He savored the crispness of the gin, knowing the good stuff when he tasted it. He lazily glanced toward the kitchen, catching a whiff of their dinner. He lolled his head around and thought about it, “You know, I could probably get you access to the warehouse for when they decide to show up. Say the word, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Cass hummed, thinking over Ransom’s offer. It was no secret that her aim hardly missed, and give her the right weapon, she would bring in the bodies. She knew Byrne never put much worth in strategy, which included tactical breaching, and it would be far too easy to pick him out of the line-up. She could end him once for all. She finished off her martini, knowing she had Ransom’s undivided attention.

“No, I think I’m going to be home for Sunday breakfast with my parents. I want to be there when that son of a bitch gets caught red-handed, and I’m not talking metaphors.”


	7. Chapter 7

As she promised to Ransom, Cass chose to attend Sunday breakfast with her parents the day of the raid. Although her alarm went off at the usual early time that morning, she took her time getting ready. She had a hunch that she needed to be dressed for the occasion, that occasion being observing the spectacular disaster of Byrne’s bubble getting burst by her father.

She barely arrived on time at her family’s mansion, underestimating traffic density from the city. However, she knew she could slip past scrutiny from her mother with her state of dress, in a perfectly subdued choice of [a modest black dress](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9f/31/40/9f31409f0a14dd601470d18139c6b6dd.jpg) perfect for the brunch setting.

Getting out of her car, Cass shuffled across the driveway in her towering stiletto boots to give her an extra oomph in her height and locked her car behind her. She stuffed her phone into her purse, having texted Ransom that she awaited Byrne’s disgraced return to the West estate to get berated during the infamous Sunday breakfast tradition.

Byrne was supposed to join them for that morning, but she learned from her mother that he refused the invitation quite rudely. Cass smirked when hearing how offended the response made her mother and knew Byrne would dig the grave for their faux engagement himself. He declined the invitation to go behind her father’s back and fuck everything up? That getting revealed would be more delicious than whatever the house staff cooked for breakfast and her standard Bellini.

As she approached the double-doors, she heard the greeting of “Good morning, Miss West!” from the guards in their post outside the house. She nodded to them in a silent yet respectful response. Receiving a nod from her was the best-case scenario for those on duty whenever she stopped by the mansion, and the guards dared not sigh in relief when she passed into the house.

Cass entered the foyer, walking confidently toward the dining room like she didn’t nearly show up late, and brushed herself off, summoning all her confidence. She pulled on her poker face and directly walked into the dining room, seeing her parents seated at the table.

Mathias barely glanced up from his engaged reading of the morning paper, turned to the sports section, and gave a mere grunt to his daughter. A few chairs down from him, Meredith stopped stirring her tea in the finest china they owned to see what Cass turned up wearing. With impressed surprise, she nodded approvingly at how feminine and classy her daughter appeared. “Why Cassiopeia, you look absolutely darling today.”

“Thank you,” Cass offered a small smile, fake of course. She knew how to mind her manners when she needed something or tasked herself with a mission. Lying to her parents’ faces wasn’t new to her, nor was it hard. They trained her to be a good liar, and she chose to be a better one than their skills could figure out.

She took her seat across from Meredith and equidistant from Mathias as someone from the kitchen staff hustled into the room, plate in hand. Cass respectfully nodded and passed a polite remark to the staff. People could say what they wanted about her, but she never treated the staff with low regard. Forgetting the people who worked for you or mistreating them could turn into one’s demise.

She scooped a bite of egg, potato, and bacon quiche into her mouth, chewing slow and relishing in the silence. When she was younger, she hated how nobody spoke during shared meals and that her parents paid more attention to the paper or their reflection in a compact mirror than her. Or when her mother would loudly scold her for a minor manner infraction, thoroughly deriding her until she wished she could be swallowed whole by the ground. Those days were long gone, but she preferred the silence now.

She didn’t understand back then about who her parents were, but those times taught her a valuable lesson: you can only rely on yourself.

Much to her surprise, Mathias dropped the Sunday paper for the first time since she showed up and looked her over. She ignored him at first but felt his eyes burning against her skin uncomfortably. She sighed under her breath; when he stared, it meant he wanted something. She dropped her fork and looked at Mathias, “Yes, father?”

“I wanted to solicit your opinion about a case I’m working on,” Mathias explained, eliciting a confused arch of Cass’s brow when hearing that. He wanted her opinion on a case? Funny, it’s like he remembered she attended Harvard Law suddenly instead of his usual nonsense of ignoring her advice. Out of the two of them, she was the one with an undefeated trial record. Mathias sensed that he had her interest piqued and leaned forward onto his laced hands. “A capital punishment trial.”

Cass regarded him with interest, and she would hear him out. She reached for her Bellini and said, “Oh? Do go on-”

“Sebastian Haines, a New York architect, was arrested and accused of killing his second wife, Lisette. He claims innocence, that he was out of his house on errands. The prosecutor is aiming for first degree while I entered a not guilty plea-” Mathias explained to Cass, but he trailed off when Cass appeared on the verge of laughing.

“Let me guess,” Cass smirked, leaning back in her chair. She heard this tale a thousand times before. “Prosecution hinges their case on the revealed information that your guy had a mistress, who he was funding a lavish lifestyle for through mysterious payments, and the wife found as evidenced by the presence of divorce papers found with another attorney. That and a paper trail of other information or photographs of the trysts were uncovered a la the dead wife. How am I doing thus far?”

Meredith’s head snapped over to Mathias, waiting to see whether Cass angered him with her interruption. Mathias sat there, floundering with an expression screaming that Cass stole this thunder. Cass knew that might happen, highly possible with a father with an ego the size of Jupiter. 

Mathias cleared his throat, adjusting the popped collar of his suit with fidgeting hands, barely avoiding squeezing into fists, “Well, yes to all of those, but that’s not important-”

“No. It is. Details like that can and will make or break your case. You should know that. Ignoring the mistress angle will end with your client in more hot water,” Cass corrected, fixing Mathias a pitying look. It seemed he was losing his touch. She was surprised that he didn’t ask how she knew about the mistress without him telling her. She would avoid telling him that his client approached her first to represent him and turned him down flat. She didn’t represent wife killers and domestic abusers, sorry. But she needed to stay in Mathias’s good graces enough, so she would spare his fragile ego.

She took a slow sip of her drink, savoring the moment and making her father impatiently wait on her, “I’m not approaching this from your side because the stronger argument lies in debunking reasonable doubt within the prosecution. The burden of proof lies with them, and any jury will sway with enough seeds of discord sewn into their minds. You need to burst holes into their argument to win or stall into a hung jury.”

Mathias appeared prepared to protest, to proclaim that her analysis seemed juvenile or something he would never do. She frowned, disappointed but not surprised. His style embodied traditionality, which lacked cleverness. The difference between Mathias West and Cassiopeia West was that Cass let ice and ambition run simultaneously through her veins to create an unstoppable force. She never let the unconventional get in the way of what she wanted, nor did she shy away from embracing something unthinkable to help her.

That pleasant diatribe would fall short when the doors opened to the dining room, and Cass witnessed Meredith’s face transform into shock before a terrified shriek ripped out of her throat. Cass and Mathias snapped out of their chairs and faced the doors, finding two of their men there. Cass truthfully forgot their names as they joined in a cluster and never were formally introduced to her.

They stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and covered in blood. Their clothing ended up torn or rumpled from a scuffle, soaked with blood that likely belonged to someone else. The shorter of the two appeared to be limping while his partner carried him with an arm slung over his shoulder. It was a grisly scene, but Cass would be the only one around the table not surprised. The two made fleeting eye contact with her, but even they could tell there was no sympathy from the Duchess. She warned them better, but they didn’t listen.

“Vance, Henderson, what the hell did you two get into?” Mathias questioned, knowing the signs of a scuffle when he saw it. He heard Meredith’s scandalized gasp and glanced over, seeing her pointedly avert her eyes. Blood offended her delicate sensibilities, and interrupting meals were off-limits. So, what did they think they were doing?

“Boss, apologies for the interruption! We didn’t realize you were in here-” Henderson, the taller one, pushed his dirty blond hair out of his face as it pressed against his forehead with sweat and blood. Vance, his companion, anxiously fidgeted underneath the glares of Mathias and Cass. Both noticed his quiet hiss and wince, coming from when he applied pressure on his right leg and that would be from a moderate to severe injury judging from the pained expression. Vance appeared unwilling to put any pressure on it, leaning exclusively onto Henderson. “We were ambushed, sir.”

Cass turned her back on them, rolling her eyes for Meredith and Mathias to see plainly. Now was a good a time as any to burst the little secret Byrne hid from him. So, she got ready for the fireworks because Mathias West’s temper made the stuff of legends.

“Of course, we’re going the revisionist history route to circumvent the blame game,” Cass scoffed, admiring her fork between the final bites of her quiche. She did her best not to smile or show signs of pleasure for what was to come. She paused slightly and licked her lips, the anticipation too great. “I can’t believe none of you listened when I told you that damned raid was a foolhardy death wish.”

The table plunged into shock as Mathias and Meredith turned on their daughter, barely tearing their eyes off the wounded boys limping to find medical attention from someone working on staff. Cass calmly looked between two pairs of eyes, demanding answers from her. She sipped at her Bellini and set the glass down when her father questioned, “What raid?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? I assumed Byrne told you from how he bragged you gave him the go-ahead,” Cass leaned heavily into feigning innocence, not wanting her father to get angry at her. She knew damn well that Byrne never got his permission, but she felt uninspired to stop him from doing something idiotic that might get him killed. “Byrne called an impromptu meeting while you and Mer- Mother were away on a trip. He organized a sloppy raid on a warehouse—a Drysdale property up north—and I told them that it was wrong to have a meeting without you there. But what can I do when I wasn’t left in command?”

It became apparent that her father wasn’t fully listening to her but enraged would be the understatement of the century. He shoved his chair back and forcibly threw his napkin down onto his half-empty plate, teeming with near-explosive energy. Good. That would make for one hell of a show.

On her side, Meredith anxiously fiddled with her napkin and clearly fretted over Mathias’s reaction to the news. She knew that Byrne's character was no good, but even she knew that his actions crossed a line. Cass observed as her father stormed toward the double doors leading into the hallway, knowing his destination: his office.

If the two injured men were back, that would mean the others snuck into the mansion through a hidden side door meant for discreet entry. So, Cass got out of her chair and started walking behind her father, realizing that her father intended to throttle Byrne. Gleefully she followed him up the winding stairs, keeping relative pace with her father.

The two stormed down the hallway, stopping in front of his office door, and Cass hung back as her father shoved open the door. Byrne and the five other volunteers who went on the raid jolted upon the loud slam of the door, seeing a seething Mathias and Cass sauntering in behind him.

“Boss! Thought you were having breakfast-” Byrne attempted to play it cool, which wouldn’t be easy with a swollen black eye, busted lip, and a re-broken nose. He would never say how he got them to his men, but he added another reason to mount Ransom Drysdale’s head to his wall. While Cass reveled in the sight of Byrne with a delightful serving of just desserts, Mathias refused to let him off the hook because he got his ass handed to him. Frankly, Mathias West wasn’t above presenting Byrne with a second shiner.

“Save it, you underhanded son of a bitch.” Mathias snapped, striding up to Byrne. The two were about equal height, sparking a heated argument from the glares. Byrne refused to cower or show weakness while Mathias scoured the room for any sign of remorse. He found those under Byrne to be ashamed of their participation, or maybe getting caught; Cass suspected the latter.

“There were more of you,” Cass declared, interrupting the silence. She coyly leaned up against the doorframe and focused her eyes on Byrne, waiting for him to lash out. She could feel him on the verge of shaking with anger, wondering how the hell she knew his plans. He was the one spying on her, but she had friends in the right places. Ransom provided stills of the raid before the cameras were ‘mysteriously’ shot out and she looked among the faces gathered around the table, noticing that three were missing. Her voice commanded the attention of those in the room, and her father and Byrne looked at her, temporarily distracted from their impending spat. She crossed her arms, “Where are Beaumont, Kerr, and Millard? They were on your little escapade-”

Silence persisted until Mathias slammed his fist down on the table. He didn’t know when people started thinking it was okay to keep secrets from him, but that ended today. He refused to let anyone think they were above him, even those who he declared his heir. He wasn’t dead yet. “Cassiopeia asked a question, and it deserves an answer.”

All eyes landed on Byrne, pleading with him to say something. He launched the raid, and therefore, he bore the brunt of the responsibilities as the highest-ranking member of their failed attempt. He clenched his jaw, struggling to reign in a snarky insult in response.

“The warehouse was crawling with enemies, more than we anticipated or hoped would be there. It became apparent that we were outnumbered and outgunned when we got too far in to escape unscathed. Beaumont, Kerr, and Millard were gunned down, but we left them there. We couldn’t bring them with us without losing others, so I decided to cut our losses.” Byrne shrugged, and that ambivalence singlehandedly sent Mathias down a spiral of uncontrollable anger.

Mathias lashed out, grabbing a fistful of Byrne’s shirt and tugging his protégé toward him. Byrne refused to show fear, but Cass saw the bob of his Adam’s apple. He feared the loss of his title instead of the repercussions for getting three men killed and acting recklessly against the wishes of his boss. Mathias snarled at Byrne, not caring that his men were looking on, “You thought that you could go behind my back and that I wouldn’t find out, Julius? How stupid do you think I am? Better yet, how merciful do you think I am after pulling a disrespectful stunt like that? You ran like a coward, tucked tail, and let a spoiled brat like Drysdale make you his bitch. You did your backstabbing, and for what? To lose. I have never seen a more pathetic sight than you, standing before me right now. I have to wonder if I made a mistake entrusting you to lead the future of this empire.”

Cass, wanting to get the last word in, interjected from her corner spot, “I warned you, all of you, that this would be a foolish endeavor. None of you thought it important to listen. You lost three of your friends because of your stupidity.” Her comments served to be as unhelpful to Byrne as possible, rubbing it in that he got his ass handed to him. She felt utterly liberated from caring about what anyone else in the enterprise did, and no longer inserting herself into enforcing the order meant chaos would soon slip through the cracks. Ignorance was Byrne’s vice, while complacency was Mathias’s.

“You better think before you act from today onward. Crossing me is a bad idea, Julius. I made you who you were, from a useless street rat to the next great mob boss, and I can take it away just as easily. You know full well what happens to people who betray me.” Mathias threatened, and the implication wasn’t lost on Cass. Her eyes glimmered with the realization that she might keep that in mind, almost tempted to seize the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Mathias stormed out of the room without anything else to say, a disappointed glare was thrown at his heir and he slammed the door behind him. He hardly realized that Cass hung back, smirking widely at Byrne. Ah, that satisfied her immensely to see. Byrne wasted no time glaring at her amusement and hissed, “You-”

Cass rolled her eyes. Byrne could save the tantrum for someone who gave a shit because she sure as hell didn’t. She crossed her arms. “Me, nothing. Three men are dead because of you, driven by ego and ambition. You should think about why that is before you blame me for your mishaps, especially when I told you better.”

Byrne slammed his hands down on the table, making a few men around him tense from the suddenness. Cass, however, appeared unmoved by his petulant behavior. She raised a brow, daring him to say something else stupid. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what your plan is. You’re trying to make me look bad.” Byrne’s accusation elicited a bark of laughter out of Cass, knowing he didn’t have an iota of proof to back up that statement. He was frothing at the mouth in rage, lashing out wildly with the first accusation he could throw at her. He only served to make himself look like a raging idiot the more he ran his mouth–not that it was that hard. Byrne did it so quickly that she never needed to lift a finger.

“You made yourself look bad,” Cass corrected firmly, but the amusement stayed on her face. She glanced around the room and observed the faces witnessing the uneven sparring match between her and Byrne. She knew, they knew, and even Byrne knew he wouldn’t escape the second scolding by a West unscathed. When Byrne glared and his nostrils flared irritably, she successfully got underneath his skin. “You made your bed, now lie in it. Oh, and—before I forget—my father only found out about your botched raid because you let two of your posse limp into the dining room all bloodied. Maybe plan better next time or do any thinking whatsoever.”

Without anything further to say, she turned her back on Byrne and ended the conversation with a dismissive wave of her hand, effectively shutting him up. He could fume silently at her back or spew all the blame he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact he was squarely in the wrong. She got what she came there for, so she didn’t need to stay. She slinked out of the room, and her smile told the world she relished in the public punishment that Byrne endured. Was it petty of her? Absolutely. Did she care how it made her look? Not in the slightest.

For all she cared about, it was Byrne-0 and Cassiopeia-1.


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting in the backseat of her father’s luxury sports car, Cass prepared herself for an evening of endless, stuffy small talk and less-than-subtle flaunting of wealth as the high and mighty of Boston jockeyed for attention. Events like this evening were rife with strategic alliances, matchmaking of children, and the breaking of friendships into splinters over petty slights. To those who spent their days planning brunch outings, country club meetings, and laboriously debated over what cashmere sweater to wear on an outing, the “intrigue” of it all served as the limited exposure to the excitement and thrill people like them could find without lifting a finger.

Cass found them boring, but that’s probably because she knew what a high-speed car chase and shoot-out felt like. She lived through being stabbed, a dozen criminal activities, and dethroning empires. She didn’t need excitement injected into her life when her job gave her plenty to feel excited about. Living life on the edge made all else pale comparatively.

Meredith sat beside her, chattering on at her about who would be attending and the list of eligible bachelors she might choose to pursue or something. Cass would admit she was only half paying attention as she added the extra layer of her deep red lipstick, straying away from the glossy red that demanded attention for a more sophisticated, matte shade. She matched it to [her dress of velvet and skin-tight fit](https://image.hebeos.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/small_image/450x600/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/p/o/po16033po1102-1.jpg), colored a shade close to a Bordeaux hue.

She twirled and fluffed her hair in the reflection of her compact mirror, ready to declare herself aesthetically pleasing to herself. She didn’t give two shits about whether she was attractive to the male company her mother wished her to attract like flies to honey but expected that her high standards could encompass that goal.

She sighed when closing the compact mirror, stuffing it into her purse with her lipstick. She casually leaned back, only to hear Meredith snap, “Cassiopeia, sit up straight. Bad posture is unbecoming of a lady.”

“No one can see me in the back of the car. I’m trying to preserve my back from hours of pain.” Cass replied, not batting an eye at her mother’s commentary or appearing moved by the insinuation that she would be deemed ‘unattractive’ because she wasn’t sitting up ramrod straight like a soldier.

Meredith clicked her tongue disappointedly but left Cass alone. She figured that there wasn’t a point in arguing with Cass about her refusal to properly adhere to the crowd's decorum and expectations. Knowing her, it seemed equally likely that Cass would still emerge on top without deferring to the demure act of a graceful lady. Perhaps she might present a playful challenge or a game of chase with all her vigor and tongue-in-cheek snark. Wealthy young men had nothing better to do than burn cash, waste time, and indulge in the pleasures of their luxurious lifestyles.

If she knew what Meredith was thinking, Cass would simply retort that she was a luxury most men couldn’t afford.

Her intentions promised to get through the evening unscathed to buy herself more time, loosening the noose of an undesirable engagement from around her neck. She would capitalize on her freedom to eliminate the threat that Byrne held over her head, thereby reducing the power he had over her. It became critical to winning the game, siphoning away power back to her hands before she struck.

She eyed outside the dark tint of the backseat windows, made from bullet-proof glass, and steadied herself when the car rolled to a slow stop outside a lavish mansion. Some old family friend of her mother was hosting some soiree. Everyone who was anyone would be there, especially those with status and money to their names—the perfect ground for connections and breeding between the wealthiest of society.

While her mother existed as a well-known face at these events, Cass was an enigma. Meredith spoke of her repeatedly, dressing up her accolades and academic accomplishments without mentioning how Cass thrived as a stone-cold, unorthodox bitch. That image didn’t garner interest for potential marriages as Meredith hoped.

The driver parked in front of the double doors, hustling to open the door and help Meredith and Cass out. On the right side, Meredith slid out first and accepted their driver's hand, offering a placid smile that didn’t reach her eyes. No smile ever did. She smoothed out her tea-length, dark blue dress befitting of her maturity.

“Excellent, thank you,” She mused and glanced behind her, waiting for Cass to hurry up. She waved to some familiar faces with their spouses or children accompanying them. She put on her most chipper airs as she declared, “Cassiopeia, hurry now!”

Cass rolled her eyes while still cloaked underneath the darkness of the car but gracefully slid out of the backseat and into the view of those watching. She hitched her slight train up and accepted the driver’s hand, giving him a thankful nod. He understood what that meant. Cass stood tall, boosted by the four-inch stilettos hidden underneath the train of the dress, and eclipsed Meredith in stature and aura. She knew that from how people continued to stare.

They wanted to know Cassiopeia West. This is what she looked like.

Cass wordlessly followed her mother away from the car, up the steps, and into the mansion. She glanced around, seeing a home with an old Hollywood glamor interior in the beiges of the walls, the dangling chandeliers, and the dark wood floors. She glanced around, scanning the room for threats or danger and all possible exits. She glanced warily down at her handbag, devoid of her gun. She felt naked without it, but Meredith would lose her cool if she found out Cass thought about stashing it into her purse.

She, however, was not defenseless.

Hidden in the sown pocket within the purse, Cass could find a tactical folding knife should any danger to her life present itself. Besides, she learned how to make a weapon out of anything in her line of work. She would sooner break a champagne flute and wield the jagged glass than surrender. She didn’t think this party would do anything beyond boring her to death, but it never hurt to be prepared.

She scowled when Meredith roughly elbowed her in the ribs, plastering on a forced smile as Meredith saccharine coo inquired, “Isn’t this lovely, darling?”

“Stunning—” Cass replied, evening out her tone. She needed to keep cool, pretend everything was simply peachy. “—truly! The décor looks gorgeous.” Usually, Cass couldn’t care less about décor, but she figured that level of myopic focus within a conversation might fit right in. She ran her tongue across her teeth, eyes jumping around at the different faces. She spotted several men around her age without wedding rings, identifying them as the prime targets in Meredith’s quest to see her engaged to anyone other than Byrne.

They were handsome enough and undoubtedly rich enough to interest her mother’s superficiality. By the looks she was getting from some of those men, it appeared she piqued their interests without so much as a word.

Before Meredith could sweep her off to meet her selection of suitors, a woman with greying blonde hair and a fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders scurried over to the two of them with a loud, attention-seeking gasp. “Meredith West! So glad you could make it!”

“You know I wouldn’t miss it, Anette,” Meredith assured her as the two women exchanged their air hugs and kisses on the cheek, somehow not touching. Cass stood off to the side, admiring the new red nail polish she had done for the evening. She couldn’t look more bored if she tried, which didn’t do her any good. She rejoined paying attention to the conversation when hearing, “How’s Nathan doing at USC?”

“Excellent. He’s on track to medical school in no time!” “Who is this lovely companion you’ve brought with you?” Anette finally seemed to notice that Meredith didn’t come alone, strangely enough. Mathias made scarce appearances at social events with her these days, and their daughter stayed out of the limelight since her late teen years. Anette thought that the young woman, dressed fabulously, was someone Meredith took under her wing as a mentor.

Meredith tried not to look smug as much as Cass tried not to roll her eyes into the back of her skull. She felt sure enough that Meredith waited for this moment for so long and didn’t know how she should feel about the hijacking of her accomplishments to bolster her mother’s social life. Cass barely avoided grimacing when she got pat on the back, holding in the urge to wither in disgust. Meredith smiled, “Anette, this is my daughter, Cassiopeia.”

“Oh! You’re Cassiopeia? Your mother has told me so much about you.” Anette gasped, eyes wide, and thrust her hand out for Cass to shake. She appeared almost starstruck, which made Cass wonder what the hell her mother was telling people about her.

All the excitement and fuss from loudly diverted attention onto her and Anette hardly seemed perturbed by it. Cass, on the other hand, wanted to eliminate a reason to stare. So, she firmly clasped Anette’s hand and shook it, calming her frantic squawking with unmistakable authority. “That’s me, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you.”

Cass’s voice's softened edge seemed to do the trick, mesmerizing Anette into quiet and taking the surrounding attention elsewhere. Cass let go of her hand and offered a smile, one designed to lull into a false sense of security.

“Yes, so nice to meet you. It’s wonderful to see the young minds of our feature come from such esteemed backgrounds,” Anette whispered, glancing around. Cass mutely nodded; ‘esteemed backgrounds’ meant wealthy and well-connected or above the common riff-raff. Loaded, secret terminology like that embedded itself into her vernacular from the mere feat of growing up in the viper’s nest of high society. Anette flagged over one of the rotating waiters with an empty tray, “Is there anything I can get you lovely ladies to drink? We have the finest champagne and an open bar-”

At an open bar, Cass perked up somewhat. A small victory: she could drink her heart out or until she erased the memories of the evening until a hazy, liquor-induced blackout. She only went blackout drunk once before, but she made the right decision, choosing to do it during the annual holiday party. She heard there had been three separate fistfights, a broken chandelier in the dining room, and a near mutiny.

“Would a martini be available? Extra dirty?” Cass requested before Meredith could decline the offer. She glared at her and Cass glared back, snapping a look that told her mother that she was only getting through the evening with a martini- or two.

“Yes! I would recommend trying the open bar because we hired only the best for the party.” Anette waved the waiter off to fetch the drinks for the Wests before she flounced off. Hostess duties called her away, leaving Meredith and Cass alone to talk.

“So, look around the room—” Meredith instructed, glancing around the living room at the faces to approve or disregard. She considered herself having the best taste between her and Cass to pick out a potential husband befitting their family’s status. Cass glanced around and gave a lackluster shrug, turning back to the bar with her eyes. Her eyes were focused on that martini coming her way. “—do you see any men you’re interested in?”

“Let me think- No,” Cass clicked her tongue, ignoring Meredith’s annoyed scowl. None of the men looked remotely interesting to her as she assumed they were all investment bankers, businessmen, or maybe the occasional lawyer or doctor if she was lucky. Heaven forbid she run into any ‘influencer’ types because they disgusted her, unlike anything else. That, and she refused to gamble her luck on their looks. “None of them look all that interesting, and the homogeneity of the eligible bachelor pool concerns me.”

Meredith scoffed at Cass, disbelieving that her daughter could be so picky about her choices. All she saw was the green that would come flowing in with a son-in-law. Sons are alliance-makers while daughters are social ladder climbers.

Cass’s face lit up when the waiter returned with her martini, offering it to her as the skewered olives rolled around the rim of the glass. She gracefully took it before savoring the first sip, slightly gasping when the vermouth and gin hit her throat. Damn, that was one good martini.

She licked her lips when pulling back and admired the lipstick indent left into the glass, which didn’t amuse Meredith. She crossed her arms and glared at Cass, “I don’t care whether they’re the most boring man to exist. Pick one to talk to, or I shall pick one for you.”

Annoyed by Meredith’s threat, Cass rolled her eyes and finished the rest of her martini for the sweet, stinging burn of the liquor. She deserved one drink under her belt before getting stuck chatting up the men she got sicced on. She closed her eyes, letting the taste dance freely, and steeled her courage.

“That glass looks awfully empty, Miss. Could I offer you another martini?” A familiar voice smoothly inquired from behind her, and Cass’s eyes snapped open when her stomach involuntarily clenched. If she had been drinking, she undoubtedly would’ve choked on her martini. Of all the people-

Turning around, she and Meredith saw Ransom fucking Drysdale standing before them, dressed up in a double-breasted coat, dark gloves, and trousers in an unusually monochromatic look. Cass became accustomed to him wearing sweaters and that stupid brown overcoat with little deviation from that. However, she supposed the occasion called for a wardrobe improvement but begged the question—what the hell was he doing there?

“Perhaps,” Cass hummed, giving him a performative once-over meant for her mother. She knew Meredith would be watching closely, so she gave her something to salivate over. Ransom’s eyes met hers, dropping down as he still towered over her. “I don’t typically take drinks from strangers, but are we really strangers?”

Meredith caught onto the insinuation and eyed Ransom—who she only knew as a dashing stranger—and looked over to Cass. Why didn’t she know this fellow? “Cassiopeia, dear, do you two know each other?”

“Ah, yes. Cassiopeia and I have met once before. She and I have done business together, and she has quite the wit—” Ransom grinned wolfishly, eliciting a sharp stare from Cass. He needed to be careful about what he said around Meredith, never sure of her allegiances. Meredith West was a notorious gossip. He held his hand out to Meredith’s, giving a slight bow when she accepted his hand. His delight spoke volumes, “—the name’s Hugh Drysdale, Mrs. West.”

“Oh, please call me Meredith.” Meredith cooed at Ransom, nearly making Cass gag. She suppressed the disgust at the overly sugary sweetness her mother unknowingly addressed Ransom with. She felt in sheer disbelief that Ransom managed to sweet-talk her mother, but she waited for the other shoe to drop. If she knew who Ransom was or recognized his surname, she wasn’t saying anything about it.

Then, it struck Cass that Meredith might genuinely not know who Ransom really was. She thought about it, lingering on the West stance on involving the significant others and how the women were largely excluded—not including her, who fought for her spot at that table. Never had Cass been so grateful for her mother’s doctrine that women shouldn’t involve themselves in their husband’s business affairs. 

“Alright, Meredith,” Ransom intentionally placed stressed emphasis on her name, earning a smile. He resisted the urge to laugh; he still had his charms. The uncanny ability to win over most women he encountered felt like his superpower, and he delighted in it when he wasn’t busy stirring the pot and instigating. He suavely raked his fingers through his hair and laid on the charm through a smile, catching Cass’s glower. He ignored her for a moment, focusing on Meredith. He knew that the guys would start swooping in soon on the best-looking women in the party, and Cass, objectively, was the sexiest of the women gathered there. So, his window was closing rapidly. “Do you think I could borrow your lovely daughter for a conversation? I promise I’ll return her back to you.” 

Meredith nudged Cass forward, nearly sending her tumbling into Ransom’s arms. She smiled serenely, but her eyes told Cass she felt vindicated, pleased with the turn of events. She waved, “Please, feel free. Cassiopeia, you know where to find me.”

Cass mutely nodded, having nothing else to say. Going with Ransom got her away from flirting with unsuspecting replacement suitors and she, somehow, imagined tolerating Ransom’s company rather than the company of the other men. Ransom, sensing her begrudging acceptance, wrapped his arm around her waist as he escorted her away in their quest “to the bar.” Cass vowed to kill him later but leaned in and hissed out, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Ransom replied, not bothered with her hostile response to his presence. Honestly, he didn’t know she would be there when he got invited by the host’s daughter—an old fling of his—for some reliving old times. But he spotted Cass first and decided to have some fun, always getting a rise out of her.

Who knew he would charm the pants off her mother in the process? Figuratively, of course.

“Dressed like this? What else could it be?” Cass swept her arm down her attire, knowing she looked gorgeous and simultaneously hating why she was at the event dressed like this. Ransom’s eyes greedily drank the sight of her in, from her cleavage on full display to the snug contour of the velvet to her curves. A smirk never faltered when enjoying the view, knowing full well that Cass hated when he did that. Pushing her buttons filled him with such glee-

She looked like her mother planned to sell her off to the highest bidder, and Ransom suspected he was right from how eagerly Meredith West pawned her off to him when he showed a fraction of interest. “If you told me that you were husband-hunting, I would’ve brought a nice ring and a list of my assets for consideration.” He remarked nonchalantly. 

“I hate you.” Cass huffed exasperatedly as they moved through the crowd of unfamiliar faces, mingling over drinks. Ransom, as a waiter with a bottle of unopened and chilled champagne walked past, snatched the champagne from the bucket. He held the bottle out to Cass, winking.

“C’mon, you and I are going to get some fresh air from this boring party, and maybe—” Ransom decided and raised his brows at the champagne bottle in his hand. A drink of celebration, a pre-emptive one for their victorious end to the warpath they marched down together. “—We’ll crack this bad boy open.”

Cass mulled it over but chose to accept. She could stay vigilant and had her knife on her still, “Fine, but no funny business.”

Ransom guided her away from the clusters of people to duck into the hallway, aware of the secret shortcuts around this house. Alison, his former fling, was a talkative woman with plenty of excitement to share her home's schematics with Ransom. She expected it to be used for liaisons, but Ransom so scarcely came around. He was a busy man. What could he say?

Slipping into the shadows and moving quietly through the mansion, Ransom brought Cass to the balcony overlooking the oddly empty pool. With everyone sequestered indoors with their drinks and meaningless small talk, the air outside was quiet—peacefully so. He leaned casually with his back against the railing, holding up the bottle of champagne.

He tried to wretch the cork out of the bottle, failing to think ahead about snatching a corkscrew or something to open the bottle. Not willing to watch him flounder and waste time, Cass whistled and gestured for the bottle. She revealed the knife out of her purse with a smug grin, gesturing for Ransom to pass the champagne. She had it handled.

Ransom handed the bottle to her, biting back a laugh when seeing the knife. He should’ve known that she would be armed in some capacity. He didn’t arm himself before leaving the bar, but that made Cass more prepared than him for the presence of disaster. With her need for control, it really was no wonder.

Cass moved in quiet, deliberate movements bolstered by focus when she dug the blade into the mouth of the bottle and proceeded to uncork the champagne. She wedged the knife between the glass and cork, circling around to loosen the cork. She tipped the bottle's neck away from her dress as she pulled the cork, not wanting to spill champagne on her lovely dress. Despite the soiled memories, she genuinely liked the dress and might use it for another event.

Her eyes sought Ransom’s, silently offering the bottle out to him. He could have the first sip, and it was better to let him take the chance of poisoning. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, admittedly not far.

However, Ransom shook his head. He cocked his brow and leaned back, enjoying the chilly air of the evening. “You opened it, so you get the first sip- and no, I didn’t poison it.” He said.

Cass didn’t protest his insinuation and he held up his hands, defensively shrugging. No hard feelings on his end. He didn’t trust anyone either. But then again, why would he kill her when she held the keys to taking down Mathias. Their entire partnership laid on an unstable foundation of distrust and constant wariness about a betrayal from the other. Ransom had nothing to gain by getting rid of Mathias West's daughter, and Cass had nothing to gain by offing the only mobster with a viable chance to ruin her father.

So, she hesitantly brought the bottle to her lips and sipped at the champagne. Her tongue prickled against the effervescent, sweet acidity that only sparkling champagne could deliver. The coldness of the buzz contrasted with the burning heat of her earlier martini. She gracefully poured a fill into her mouth and swallowed fearlessly, then offering the bottle out to Ransom like a flask.

He accepted the champagne and took a matching sip of his own, and the two observed the other to find no signs of poisoning. As Ransom suspected, nothing would befall either of them.

Cass quietly moved toward the balcony railing, leaning against it on her forearms, whereas Ransom leaned with his back pressed into the swirling iron design. She glanced out toward the pool, all melancholic glamor, and disdain written on her face. She looked a far cry from the most feared mobster of the West crime family standing on the balcony of a stranger’s mansion, drinking champagne out of the bottle with her once-sworn enemy.

“So, why are you here? I spilled already,” Cass questioned, not willing to let Ransom weasel away without an answer. His family occupied the same socio-economic circles as hers, but his family represented the blurred line between old money and new money where Cass’s firmly entered new money territory. If they needed another reason to show how different they were, there it was. All those differences made the Wests and the Thromby-Drysdales natural enemies, yet she and Ransom still worked together. “I’m sure you didn’t show up to pester me.”

“Technically, I was supposed to be between the sheets with a perky blonde about this time, but I stumbled across you first. Call it my lucky day, but I always preferred dark hair.” Ransom’s smirk elicited a roll of Cass’s eyes. She shouldn’t have expected anything less of Ransom as she heard the peripheral rumors that he got around.

“Ah, of course. Don’t let me distract you from your weekly conquest or your flavor of the month, should you prefer that term.” Cass scoffed, slouching forward to the soft crack of her back. She suppressed a breathy moan and arching her back for further release of pressure, not willing to let Ransom get a free show.

“Now, Princess,” Ransom chuckled, taking another sip of champagne. He wet his lips and swirled the bottle. Cass’s eyes narrowed when he used the forsaken nickname, and he had her attention where he wanted it. His lips quirked into a shit-eating grin as he continued, “Remember that if it weren’t for my intervention, you would be stuck making small talk with the Richie Rich wannabes downstairs and fending off their advances through thinly-veiled disgust. Not to mention, stuck under your mother’s attentive guard like a hawk about to snatch a little mouse.”

Cass crossed her arms, unable to stop the scoff that escaped her. He was acting like he did her some greater service that she didn’t ask for. “So, what, you want me to thank you or something?”

“A thank you would be _nice_ , but I’m always open to alternative methods of appreciation,” Ransom remarked slyly, dodging around Cass’s wickedly sharp glare thrown at him. A small jolt of excitement gnawed at him when seeing her get a little riled up.

Cass couldn’t believe the audacity of this jackass, tempted with the urge to shove him off the side of the balcony into the pool. Oh, if only she didn’t need him to ruin her father’s entire life. She found herself saddled to an absolute fool, insistent on barking up the wrong tree to get her attention.

“Do you always hit on your business partners, or am I catching your fancy because I don’t fawn over you?” She questioned, half-rhetorically and half-genuinely. She must be the only woman who refused to give him the time of day with his insistence to continually push her buttons. She wasn’t sleeping with him, had no plans to, and the thought filled her with red-hot anger. Frankly, she grew tired of all the men in her life thinking she could be bought, sold, or persuaded for a price for their personal whims. She belonged to only herself, and Ransom needed a reality check that he wasn’t going to get into her pants.

“I will admit you fascinate me—” Ransom stole another drink from the champagne bottle, marking it as the third in a row. He pursed his lips in thought while admitting, “—and I do love a challenge.”

“Typical,” Cass snatched the champagne from his outstretched hand, glaring as she tipped the bottle back and poured the sweet liquid down her throat. She wasn’t drunk enough to be debating the non-existent reality of Ransom seducing her. “Shouldn’t be surprised hearing this from the trust fund playboy of Boston proper.”

Ransom whistled pointedly, neither embarrassed by his display nor angered from Cass’s rebuke. He whispered, “Merely an offer to you, and that felt a little cold for a proposition. You let me get under your skin too easily sometimes, Princess. I think they should’ve called you the Ice Queen instead of the Duchess. Your words are as biting as the winter wind, sharp as knives aimed directly at my neck.”

“Apologies that I don’t admire the doctrine of sleeping with anything that moves.” Cass sarcastically snapped at him, taking another drink. Her eyes were cold, seeing what she said barely phased him. Ransom knit his brows together, but the smirk resting on his face told the story that he found her annoyance entertaining or perhaps endearing.

“You’re exaggerating. Yes, I enjoy somewhat of a reputation,” Ransom remarked, reaching forward to brush some stray hairs back from her face to reveal the entirety of her side profile. His fingers incidentally brushed against her cheek and the edge of her jaw, warmth seeping through the gloves. His touch contrasted with the coldness of her skin, almost causing Cass to flinch from the unexpected invasion of his fleeting contact.

Ransom took the bottle from her and looked at the contents through the side of the darkened glass, finding the bottle halfway gone. He hummed, “but I do it for a reason. I find that sometimes my choice in women is open to spilling secrets with a little persuasion. I find it useful in my profession to seize on the secrets and connections that amble my way while enjoying the side benefits.”

“Ah, yet you never stop to consider I can’t go around and garner influence like that. I would be socially stoned for seeming easy where a reputation of fear forces open doors and makes people talk. Funny how the looming threat of me, breaking fingers or inflicting avenues of misery, fosters cooperation. Conversely, I know the intentions of men who search to break me in or put me in my place. I resolve to let no man close enough to think he can leverage such a favor from me.” Cass declared sharply, and while Ransom didn’t perceive it as solely directed at him, he felt the sting of her venom.

He got the point, but it made him wonder. 

Ransom questioned the truth of that statement, “Not even Byrne? I figured that you would need to placate him somehow. I’ve heard rumors of his fancy for women out of his league.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The bottle exchanged between their hands once more, entering Cass’s as it left Ransom’s. Their fingers brushed together, creating the friction between ice cold and uncomfortably warm.

“I received reports from some of my men while they were out. Apparently, they learned of an incident from neutrally aligned parties where Byrne showed up at a bar with some of your men, proceeded to get shit-faced drunk on cheap tequila, and babbled on about how your father not only made him the heir but gifted you to him as a prize. He made more comments that I’m not repeating unless I decide that I want you to shank me, but let’s say he turned graphic when discussing what he thought about you being his fiancée. So, how come I didn’t learn about the engagement when you came to me?” Ransom’s explanation left Cass brimming with wrath turning her face blustery red.

Julius Byrne was officially a dead man, and she considered pulling the trigger herself.

“I was busy setting up my plans to break it off or get my parents to dissolve the agreed union between them and Byrne. That’s why I’m here tonight; I’ve convinced my mother that I’m interested in a marriage to a wealthy, normal man instead of someone in the mob business. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have agreed to go against my father because my resistance to arranged dates didn’t sell into her narrative of me becoming the doting housewife who forgets about the mob business.” Cass sighed.

Ransom, during a sip of champagne, nearly choked. He barely held himself together enough to swallow and mask the fit of coughing that followed. He desperately tried to conjure an image of Cass, playing the dutiful housewife. Would she do fancy brunches with the wives of her husband’s golfing buddies? Would she throw soirees and social mixers, meant as the hostess and trophy wife in one? Would she be forced to give up her cushy law firm gig to raise a group of little brats while her husband likely had an affair with his secretary?

In every iteration of that imagined world, Cass appeared downright miserable. He couldn’t imagine her doing that or living that life.

If anything, the thought of his strictest competition forced out of the game irked him more than her lingering around. Who would challenge him or fill him with such thrill to fight with if not Cassiopeia West?

Ransom wiped his mouth as he composed himself, “Your father goes along with this? He wants you to leave the mob business, hand it over to Byrne? No offense, but how stupid is your father to throw away the one thing keeps me from crushing his precious empire?”

“Not quite,” Cass couldn’t believe her ears as Ransom almost sounded concerned, distressed even at the thought of her removal from the business through no choice of hers. She didn’t think his opinion on her skewed favorably beyond his playful flirtations that meant nothing. She was a means to an end for him and a hopeful potential conquest. “He, of course, wants me in the business but where I know my place. He’s the one who tethered me to Byrne, after all. So, I made a plan to outwit them all.”

“So, speaking of this grand plan of yours, am I part of it?” Ransom inquired, and he received a telling silence as Cass pointedly didn’t answer his question. Oh, so he was? How fascinating. “Ah, I see. Do tell, are you hoping your mother latches onto the idea of Hugh and uses me as a convenient scapegoat to get you on her side? If so, I might mention I am open to being seduced for the greater cause-”

Cass lightly shoved Ransom’s chest after taking the champagne bottle, eliciting a husky chuckle from him. Before she accepted another drink of their shared nectar on the balcony overlooking the emptiness of the night, Cass said, “For the last time, there’s no seducing happening. None. Put that idea out of your head.”

She tossed her head back to accept a fountain of champagne but ended early when she heard her phone angrily buzz from inside her purse. She kept the bottle tightly tucked in the crook of her arm as she fumbled to open her purse, managing to pull her phone through. She checked her texts and, sure enough, her mother texted her.

_Where are you? You’ve disappeared with that Hugh character for an hour and your father is calling me, asking where you are. I told him that you’ve accompanied me on some social errands, but we need to leave._

There went her free evening, but she managed to evade suitors for an hour—the time slipped past her without her realizing it.

“I’ve got to go-” Cass mumbled, offering the bottle out to Ransom. She heard the faint swishing of champagne inside the hollow bottle and deduced a meager amount remained, deciding that Ransom should have it.

After looking between the bottle and Cass, Ransom shook his head. She needed it more than he did. “You drink the rest.”

Cass, unwilling to play a continuous argument about who finished the small leftovers of their shared champagne, nodded wordlessly. She proceeded to down the remainder of the champagne, and Ransom observed as she tanked whatever was left in there. Once the bottle was devoid of the last drop, Cass’s head leaned forward, and she wiped at the corner of her mouth to smooth out her lipstick.

She turned toward the door, planning to discard the empty bottle along the way. Ransom trailed behind her, watching to make sure she didn’t cause a scene by falling down the stairs or cause an accident. She didn’t appear to be even a little tipsy, but he wouldn’t bet on chance.

They reached the stairs, and Ransom thought about escorting her down but saw her confidently grip the rail and slowly descend to the main room. He observed from the ledge, letting her reach the bottom and walk away without so much as a goodbye.

When she vanished, he glanced down at his watch and noted the late hour. He might stay at the party for a little longer to pilfer the h’orderves but ultimately felt his desire to stay around waning. Content with such a plan, Ransom completely forgot about his intended rendezvous with Alison.

Cass drifted through the crowd, eventually locating her mother gaggled in a group of older women who were likely the parents of the other guests her age. When Meredith saw Cass returning, she politely excused herself from her little posse and scuttled over.

“Were you with Hugh that whole time?” Meredith questioned abruptly, and Cass could only nod from getting caught off-guard. Meredith’s eyes widened to the size of tea saucers, and she shook her daughter’s shoulders, “What happened? How did it go?”

Cass shrugged Meredith’s hands off her shoulders and the interrogation with it. She needed to play it cool and knew that she would pass off a little white lie. “Hugh seemed interested in me, more than I expected. But I can feel that out more with visiting him in the future.”

Cass’s statement immediately shifted Meredith’s demeanor from nervous to ecstatic in a fraction of a second. She appeared thoroughly over the moon with the developments and clapped her hands together. “Cassiopeia, you’ve done it! This is what I needed from you. I can see the wedding now- we should aim for spring and somewhere warm. Perhaps a castle-”

Cass refused to interrupt her mother’s rambling about making wedding plans for her and Ransom, a wedding that would never see the light of day, as she wasn’t fully listening. She blindly followed Meredith out to the car and let her thoughts wander.

The divide between her and Byrne would begin to chasm wider; she felt it within her bones. When it became too wide to bridge, she knew her parents would rush to save face and call off the engagement, thereby freeing her. They should be careful what they wished for because they just might get it. 


	9. Chapter 9

Holed up in the combination office and bedroom space of her loft, Cass stared blankly at the email sitting open before her and resisted biting down on the pen resting on her lower lip from sheer frustration. While most people involved in the mob business found less assuming jobs to hide their secret life, she made her living outside of the family business as a freelance attorney. She primarily specialized in courtroom litigation with a notorious reputation as a defense attorney for the rich and powerful.

-And it was times like these where she questioned why murder wasn’t an acceptable alternative to annoying assholes who couldn’t take no for an answer. Alas, that description could fit most of her clients, and she knew she wasn’t painting them with a broad brush. It came with the territory of being the best damn lawyer in Boston.

“Unbelievable,” Cass scoffed, cracking her knuckles as she planned to write a strongly worded email back to her current client. His demands for her retainer to be lower was a disservice to her and the stellar, undefeated record she boasted. Plus, her pedigree reputation of double Ivy educations and graduating at the top of her classes. “I know this asshole is a famous writer or something, but I know he can afford to pay me as much as he pays his three sugar babies.”

He needed her; she didn’t need him. She had a client waiting list a mile long she could pluck from and find some rich bastard who got themselves into trouble to exploit money out of. She knew her worth, and that sat in her arsenal of weapons between her killer intuition and her whip-smart tongue.

But even wrangling her hard-earned money from the stingy hands of her clients, Cass enjoyed the peace of her loft. She didn’t come home to anyone with expectations burdening her down like Atlas holding the weight of the world. She languished in the freedom of her making and took pride in her independence. She commanded her destiny.

She snapped her fingers across the keyboard, swiftly constructing an email that politely told her client to either pay her or her could fuck off and find someone else to represent him in the assault case. Her smug grin grew wider with each layered sentence added, crafting emotional destruction through her words.

As she nearly finished the email, a sudden knock from downstairs derailed her train of thought and brought her to a screeching halt. She stopped writing, withdrawing her hands from the keyboard, and leaned back into her chair with a sigh. She wasn’t expecting anyone to show up at her place, especially not at the late hour. What the hell?

Figuring she should answer the door, Cass left her stilettos stashed underneath her bedside desk, where she kicked them off. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook it out, having recently removed it from the pristine bun she wore while running errands that afternoon. A glance in the mirror at her deconstructed pantsuit, which was some pressed trousers and a white button-down shirt sans blazer with the top three buttons popped and the sleeves rolled up and determined that her state of dress appeared ‘appropriate enough’ for an unexpected visitor. She didn’t care if it was the Queen of England paying a surprise visit to her loft, she wasn’t stressing about her appearance at the late hour of the night.

This was supposed to be prime Netflix and a late-night snack time once she finished her email, but that got pushed with the knock on her door. She hadn’t heard more insistent knocking and decided that would be a small solace.

Jogging down the stairs connecting the upper layer of her loft, Cass glanced around at the décor of her place. The first thing any visitor would notice about her home was the view through the wall of windows overlooking the skyline of Boston proper. Beyond the expansive windows, the walls were dark, and the hardwood flooring complimented the modernistic yet classically dark vibe. She intentionally changed the design to match her bedroom.

When she bought it, the loft came in all white and she changed it as she believed it felt too sterile. A small part of it reminded her of when she had an overnight stay and surgery at the hospital for a severe injury received during a rough skirmish with some former members. They decided they were going to put their hands on her unprovoked, and while she emerged triumphant as the sole survivor, they got a few good licks in. Not wanting to be reminded of her utter displeasure from her time in the hospital, Cass renovated her place.

She designed it to suit her tastes and made it feel more like a home than she felt before. No one could deny that this place belonged solely to her.

Approaching the door, Cass stopped short. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up, and she immediately hesitated on answering the door. She had an expectation that anyone who she invited to her apartment—and that wasn’t a privilege she gave freely—would contact her before showing up at her door.

Without a second thought, she raced back across the apartment and bolted up the stairs. She threw open the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out her Beretta, clicking off the safety with a flick of her thumb. If she opened that door to danger, she would be firing a shot straight into the throat of her would-be intruder. A steady breath escaped her lips when she returned to the lower level of her loft, curling her finger around the trigger.

The first rule of guns: Never rest on the trigger unless you intend to kill.

Cass slinked up to the door, quietly undoing the deadbolt and lock. While an amateur would hide behind the door, she stepped back and swung it open quicker than whoever on the other side could react. She pointed the gun at her unexpected visitor, but her arm quickly relaxed when seeing Ransom standing outside her door.

“Woah, Princess,” Ransom held up his hands defensively, but the cheeky smirk told her that he didn’t think he was in any danger. Just for that, Cass considered shooting him somewhere non-fatal, but then that would cause such a mess and disturb the neighbors. “Do you greet all guests with a friendly staring down the barrel of your Beretta, or am I special?”

Cass dropped her arm and let go of the trigger, thoroughly annoyed. She clicked the safety back on and tucked it into the waistband of her slacks. “Two things: why are you here, and how the hell did you figure out where I lived? I’ve gone through stringent measures to keep my location unknown.”

Ransom sauntered past her, through the gaping space in the door, without invitation. Cass stammered out a protest but huffed when she realized Ransom effectively invited himself in and wouldn’t wait for her to do so. So, Cass reluctantly closed the door and locked it up. She turned around, seeing Ransom nonchalantly plop himself to lounge onto her couch.

“Yeah, you might’ve but some of your father’s men aren’t as thorough as you are. Back when my father was running things, he sent someone to uncover your address because he thought taking you out would cause the operation to crumble. That, or he considered you the ‘weak link’ in the leadership chain—I can’t recall which. That mission proved successful in uncovering your loft hidden in plain sight, but my father never ended up looking into the report written up. I discovered it unopened when cleaning out some old files at the bar.”

Cass crossed her arms during his explanation, doing her best not to seethe. She couldn’t believe that a potential security threat existed for god knows how long she had no idea that she could get ambushed randomly. If not for Richard Drysdale’s incompetence, she might’ve died ages ago.

“I’m expecting that you, knowing my address now, will kindly shred those files to keep them out of the hands of people who might do me harm.” Cass declared, not even humoring a polite request or begging. She didn’t beg.

“Already done, Princess,” Ransom waved her off, and raised his brow. Now what kind of heathen did she take him for? He knew his way around classified, sensitive information as a man of many secrets. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Cass pointedly ignored his jibe and opted to focus on his non-answer to her two questions, “-So then why did you come? I don’t recall us agreeing on a meeting today.”

“Ah, so I decided to come to visit you because I needed to escape from the bar,” Ransom remarked, faced with a confused expression from Cass. She swore this entire exchange devolved into the weirder territory by the second. Sensing her confusion, Ransom clapped his hands together and picked his words carefully, “See, some members of my family—namely my mother, my uncle Walt, and Joni or the three second-generation Thrombys—were going to stop by. Whenever they show their faces, the three of them usually end up fighting. As amusing as family feuds are, I didn’t feel like dealing with them deciding to gang up on me. I figured I could avoid them while entertaining myself by pestering you.”

“Of course you did,” Cass sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She could demand Ransom leave, but she felt too exhausted to care. She had work to finish, and if he stayed quiet, she could ignore that he was there. “I have ground rules, which you will follow unless you want me to toss your ass out. So, listen up-”

“You have my attention, Princess.” Ransom leaned back on her couch, splaying his arms out behind him and kicking his feet up on her coffee table.

“First, take your goddamn feet off my nice coffee table—” The snap of Cass’s voice came unflinching, and Ransom quickly dropped his feet, mouthing something akin to ‘wow.’ Someone was cranky today. Cass glared at him before continuing, “I’m in the current process of working, and I would prefer to remain distraction-free. So, unless I don’t start the conversation, don’t talk. This is my house. If I tell you to do something, then I expect it to be done. When I decide this party is over, I want no protesting. You may help yourself to some drink and food, within reason. That will be all.”

Ransom grinned, finding those rules to be simple. He had stricter regulations for his bar patrons, but he would applaud her generosity, “I can abide by those rules. I consider myself a man of my word, so I promise to behave myself.” He declared.

“Fair enough,” Cass hummed, walking toward the kitchen. Given circumstances withstanding, she decided to pour herself that glass of wine she wanted. Might as well since what else served as a better reaction than her former enemy turned current business partner showing up at her door late at night to take refuge in her apartment? She approached her fridge and pulled it open, spotting her Robert Weil Riesling she bought during a trip to the Rheingau region of Germany in the door. She had been chilling a bottle for a treat herself occasion, and this seemed ideal.

So, she popped the cork off expertly and went to grab a glass but came face to face with Ransom holding two glasses. His expression looked inquisitive when holding them out to her. Cass sighed when he set them down onto the counter, “Let me guess, you want some too?”

“I do love a good Riesling. I’d love some, Princess. Thank you for offering.” Ransom’s cheekiness wore at Cass’s patience, but she poured two glasses instead of refusing him. She considered it getting them even from their first meeting. A delicate off-white liquid filled the see-through glasses, swirling around the sides and filling the air with a lusciously sweet, lightly spicy aroma.

“You’re fortunate I am in a generous mood,” Cass mused, once setting the bottle down between the bottles. She glided back toward the fridge in pursuit of a snack while Ransom picked up his wine glass, sniffing the Riesling. He lifted it to his lips, partaking in a taste that made his lips stretch into a dazzled smirk.

Cass turned back around with a bowl of strawberries in hand, seeing Ransom thoroughly pleased with her wine selection. “You seem shocked that I have good taste in anything.”

“False,” Ransom retorted, leaning against the counter with his back. He appeared comfortable, relaxed for sitting in a potential danger zone. He would be a fool to think Cass’s apartment didn’t have a plethora of weapons hidden for a moment’s notice, but he felt as unbothered as a snake charmer staring down a King Cobra. He paused before taking another drink. “I knew from the moment I met you that you had great taste. If the expensive Louboutins you sauntered your pretty little face into my bar with weren’t enough, your choice of martini solidified the choice. Plus, you chose to ally with me.”

Cass suppressed a huff as she returned to the counter, setting down her bowl of strawberries. She brushed her hair back into a loose bun from her face with the stray hair tie wrapped around her wrist, “I’m still reconsidering that decision.”

Ransom didn’t respond to that comment. Instead, he reached and plucked out a glossy strawberry from the top of the bowl and slowly stole a bite. His movement was deliberate, designed to draw Cass’s attention, and it worked. Her eyes followed the plump red of the strawberry as Ransom pushed another bite between his lips, stained with the juice trickling from the berry. Cass felt her jaw involuntarily twitch when taking in the smugness of his indulgence while in her house, as something about his reaction set her off. A red flush dusted her cheeks, creeping up her neck and filling her with heat. Something about Ransom never stopped driving her mad, and she hated it.

She hated him. She hated him. She hated Hugh Ransom Drysdale as easily as she needed air to breathe.

Cass forced herself to turn away, refusing him the pleasure of seeing her annoyance. She drank the remainder of her wine, downing the glass in one go. She ignored his whistle when she poured herself an immediate refill.

She, with her glass of Riesling and the bottle in hand, walked out of the kitchen. Ransom grabbed his drink and the strawberries, which he suspected Cass left behind on purpose, and chased after her in a light, unhurried jog. He climbed up the stairs behind her but quickly caught up to her. His eyes admired the dark color scheme of the flooring and walls contrasted with the openness of the wall of windows offering a city skyline view.

“I can see why you like it here,” Ransom said when Cass wordlessly sat at her desk, seemingly acting like he wasn’t there. He slipped past the narrow space between her desk chair and the California king bed neatly made with dark brown sheets for the duvet. The limited lighting sources of slight amber lights cast shadows on her face and the walls. He set down the bowl of strawberries on the edge of Cass’s desk when he passed, missing her glance landing on his back. She discreetly pulled her Beretta from her waistband and scooted her chair toward her bedside table a few feet away to set it down. She dragged herself back to her desk and resumed writing the email. “The view is something else.”

“It’s worth the price I pay to live here,” Cass replied, seemingly distracted by whatever she was working on. Ransom let the conversation lapse into silence, unmoved by Cass. Her incessant typing alerted him that she was composing a document of some kind.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

Cass didn’t look his way as she continued to type. Ransom thought she was ignoring him, but he heard a soft sigh after a slow sip of her wine. “Currently, I’m writing an email to my client. The asshole’s trying to stiff me, refusing to pay my retainer fee. I’ve half a mind to tell him he can find himself another lawyer.” 

“Right, I always forget that you’re an attorney,” Ransom mentioned casually, leaning back on the bed. He nursed his wine and eyed another strawberry warily, wondering if Cass would smack his hand should he try to nab one.

“What, did you forget my smarts or something?” Cass inquired sarcastically, having heard that one before. She wished she could say Ransom’s comment acted as a one-off, but plenty of men uttered those despised words to their face.

Ransom shook his head; her intelligence had nothing to do with it. He sensed he touched a sore spot when her voice came out pointedly curt and decided to move on. He peered over her shoulder with an interested glance. “Can I try and guess your case?”

“Knock yourself out,” Cass shrugged, not overly concerned with how Ransom chose to pass his time. She plucked a strawberry from the bowl and swirled it between her lips, biting into her first strawberry. She muted a soft moan and licked the juice off her lips, eyes fixated on the screen displaying the email in progress. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“Is it something related to our business? Please tell me it’s a murder case.” Ransom inquired, sounding delighted over his guess. He heard rumors about Cass’s representation of mob figures in the past, assuming it to be a safe bet. Cass shook her head. 

“Nope. Two more guesses.”

“The next coolest thing would be something related to espionage or political crimes, so I would love that to be true.” Ransom guessed.

Cass toyed with the backspace button, chewing on her lip while she wrangled with the phrasing of her final line. She should be an expert in the art of how to say ‘fuck off’ through an implied tone, but she digressed. “You have one more guess.”

“The boring, safe bet is that you’re doing something boring and white-collar like money laundering, insider trading, or financial crimes… and that comes from someone who’s overseen those crimes in action.” Ransom shrugged, less enthused with his guess.

Cass sipped at her wine, clicking her tongue. All incorrect guesses, she was afraid. “No. I’m representing a wealthy hedge fund manager in an assault case. Long story short, a client has a sugar baby—college co-ed strapped for cash, all legal arrangement, no dubious consent. Apparently, sugar baby doesn’t tell her boyfriend how she’s coming by the cash, and he finds out the hard way. Follows her to a fancy restaurant where he discovers her and my client, threatens my client, and the two get into a fistfight. Somehow, my client emerges victorious, and the boyfriend decided to press charges even though the sugar baby demanded he not do that. Like a moron, the district attorney overcharged my client on second-degree assault when the injuries don’t constitute the statute. So, I’m going to argue classic self-defense since the boyfriend swung first according to witnesses and that the case should be thrown out since the charge fails to meet the requirements for second-degree.”

“Huh,” Ransom huffed, appearing confused yet smug. He crossed his arms after finishing his first glass of wine, “I can’t imagine having to pay for a woman's company.” 

Cass snorted, rolling her eyes. Was that all he got out of that? She checked that she didn’t miss any spelling or content errors with a quick scroll, she hit send and lounged into the chair with an audible sigh. Her head dropped backward, and she shut her eyes, savoring the moment of being free of responsibilities. She could feel Ransom’s gaze observing her from the bed, but she would allow herself this reprieve.

However, the enjoyment of the moment faded quickly when there came another knock at the downstairs door. Panic sent Cass jolting forward, immediately snapping her head toward Ransom. He needed to hide and fast. Her eyes jumped around the bedroom because she knew she couldn’t risk hiding him somewhere downstairs. Her eyes rolled to the bed, and she knew that, behind the oversized duvet, underneath the bed held enough space to hide a person.

Cass sized Ransom up quickly and deduced that he could viably squeeze under the bed. She grabbed his arm, dropping down to lift the duvet and reveal the space. “Under the bed. Now.” 

“That’s going to be a tight fight, Princess.” Ransom protested, unsure whether he could fit underneath her bed. The area was comparatively spacious, for underneath a bed, but Ransom wasn’t small.

“It’s either that or you shove your ass into the armoire,” Cass offered, tempted to remind him that her house equaled her rules when a new round of demanding knocking slammed against the door. If Cass didn’t personally know the sturdiness of the door, she would fear the force might tear the door off its hinges. She glanced up at Ransom, eyes stern, “Your choice.”

Ransom bit back a sigh before he knelt and started worming under the bed through the opening. When he sufficiently got far enough where Cass could cover the rest of his body and not look out of place, she told him he could stop. She hoped that he turned his phone on silent and didn’t make a noise until she dealt with whoever decided to ruin her evening for the second time.

She jogged down to the bottom level and walked toward the door, composing herself with a breath. She knew she needed to lie like her life depended on it, so it was damn lucky she was good at it.

Unlocking the deadbolt and lock, the door pulled open and revealed the snarling scowl of Byrne standing outside her apartment. _Great, just fucking fantastic._

Cass glared at him, and she spat, “What do you want, Byrne?” She intentionally raised her voice so Ransom, hidden upstairs, would stay hidden. If Byrne found him in the apartment, their little secret would be exposed, and there would be a fight. The last thing Cass wanted was to explain her trashed loft.

“I’m stopping by to tell you that rumors are floating around about you, Cassiopeia. Your parents are heeding bad advice, and some have warned me that our engagement will be called off.” Byrne’s statement initially worried Cass, but she kept her calm. She was glad she did because she looked forward to rubbing her freedom in his face. He lost, and she wasn’t going to stop with the taste of one small victory.

“Oh, really? Good. I can’t stand you.” Cass smiled with fake sweetness and exaggeratedly fluttered her lashes at him. Her parents hadn’t consulted her on the matter yet—and that didn’t totally surprise her—but the outcome was too sweet to complain about. Somehow, the failed raid on Byrne’s watch and her convincing show with ‘Hugh’ worked to sow enough division. Meredith and Mathias were easily outraged enough, and she could play them like puppets.

“I know you had something to do with it,” Byrne snapped, cutting to the chase. Ah, so the accusations began. While Cass was clearly guilty of influencing her parents into reconsidering, Byrne lacked the self-awareness that she presented as a mirror to reveal the folly of his reckless behavior. She only reflected his lack of maturity within her competence, which said more about him than she ever needed to. “So, tell me what you told them.”

Cass threw her head back, swallowing back the snort of amusement. He thought he was going to menace her into a confession? Cute. If she sat through a seven-hour police interrogation without sweating as the detectives aggressively attempted to pry information out of her while her client sat beside her, then she assumed she could handle Byrne.

Looking Byrne in the eyes, she merely smirked and said, “I didn’t tell them anything, Byrne. Your actions demonstrated for themselves how unfit you are to run the West empire and especially how unworthy you are of their only daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Byrne shook his head, feeling ready to explode. She was playing coy, he could tell. She knew damn well this would happen and Byrne, although not having definitive information pointing to her, could feel that she was responsible for this. “No, I don’t buy that. Tell me what you did, you stupid bitch.”

“Ah, I see we’ve resorted to the name-calling stage of anger. Why don’t you go fuck off and throw your tantrum elsewhere for someone who cares? You have no proof of anything, which means you can’t accuse me of shit.” Cass openly laughed in his face, knowing that neither he nor her parents knew the full extent of what she was doing. She sneered, “This conversation is over.”

As she went to shut the door in his face, Byrne lodged his foot between the door to keep it from closing. Involuntarily, Cass felt the temperature around her drop ten degrees, and she recognized that Byrne decided he would force his way in.

“I’m not done with you yet-” He growled out, not unlike a feral dog. He shoved the door open fully, but Cass was ahead of him.

“Yeah, but I am—” She remarked, already sprinting toward the upper level of her loft. Byrne cursed and chased after her, slightly behind because of her head start but catching up. Cass heard her feet thudding against the stairs and hope Ransom caught the hint to stay hidden. He would fuck everything over should he expose himself there. Byrne ambled behind her, intent on making her confess what she did and how she tried to ruin him.

Cass barely reached her desk when Byrne grabbed her right wrist and threatened to drag her backward. Operating on pure instinct, Cass swung her left arm outward toward her desk until she grabbed something cool brushing against her palm. She wrapped her hand around it and spun over her right shoulder, swinging wide with the object. Byrne let go of her and stumbled back, barely avoiding the metallic blade of the [ornate, silver letter opener](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/0c14bc6d-4af2-4af9-9419-f486e5e49d1b/d33kja6-c9189314-b6e5-46ad-bebe-af1acd8535a6.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOiIsImlzcyI6InVybjphcHA6Iiwib2JqIjpbW3sicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMGMxNGJjNmQtNGFmMi00YWY5LTk0MTktZjQ4NmU1ZTQ5ZDFiXC9kMzNramE2LWM5MTg5MzE0LWI2ZTUtNDZhZC1iZWJlLWFmMWFjZDg1MzVhNi5qcGcifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6ZmlsZS5kb3dubG9hZCJdfQ.m9tDmvGVD_Ixhcussw1DmqBmuMI8u-RFmSn-VtvPuNw) that Cass grabbed from her desk. She kept it for decoration more than usage, but she had no qualms about turning it into a weapon.

“—Stay back, or I will carve out your tongue and feed it to the stray dogs.” Cass barked, slowly inching away from Byrne. She would put some distance between him and her, remembering where she set down her gun. He might be stupid enough to charge at her with a blade in hand, but not enough to test her marksmanship.

Byrne took a step forward, followed by another. Still, the gap remained large enough where Cass held the upper hand. She observed her surroundings and mapped out where to step without taking her eyes off Byrne, a move intentional for her safety. Counting down the steps… ten, nine, eight… “You don’t scare me,” Byrne remarked coldly, but Cass knew that to be a lie.

“Maybe turn your severed head into a peace offering to your enemies would be a more amenable suggestion for you to stay still?” Cass hissed and took the final step. Her right arm lashed out and grabbed her gun, pulling a bait and switch. She curled her finger around the trigger, goading Byrne to make his last error in judgment.

A stare-down commenced. Cass, deadly serious, pushed against the trigger slightly to induce the ominous click of her Beretta. A warning unspoken but loaded with violence. It was either Byrne walked away and lived another day, or he pursued his action and ended up a bloodied stain on the wall.

Eventually, Byrne gruffly growled and stepped back. He gave in, for now. He put his hands up and behind his head, turning around where his back faced Cass. She kept the gun pointed at him, refusing to drop it until he left. Byrne angrily pursed his lips, “I will find out what you’re hiding, Cassiopeia, one way or another.”

He marched down to the lower level and Cass moved slowly behind him, staying in the middle of the stairs to make sure he walked out the door. Byrne stormed out and slammed the door behind him, the hinges groaning under the unneeded pressure.

Cass swallowed, shoving down the fearful gag. Looking into Byrne’s eyes, she witnessed a man crazed and willing to go to whatever lengths to get what he wanted: her. But she refused to relinquish her freedom. It might be a close call, but Byrne knew nothing.

He had to be bluffing about his suspicions because he wanted her to be guilty.

Summoning the courage, Cass descended the stairs for the unknown time that evening and moved across the loft. She reached the door, frantically locking it and slamming the deadbolt on. She allowed herself to breathe with those measures in place, filled with renewed warmth under her skin originating from the burning palm wrapping around the Beretta. The shakiness of her exhale betrayed her, and she, rubbing her eyes, turned around. Her eyes landed on Ransom standing in the middle of the stairs, observing her with an indistinguishable expression.

He witnessed all of that in its lavish dysfunction and Cass felt uninspired to deal with the comments likely to come from him.

She dragged her feet past the kitchen, avoiding the temptation of grabbing something stronger from her shelf. She held her Beretta in hand as she climbed the steps.

As much as Cass tried to hide it, Ransom could see that the encounter left her shaken. Whether from fear or anger, that remained unclear. Fury didn’t sound so off the mark. Red-hot vision tainted in the blues of their eyes.

“How much of that did you hear?” A question for him.

“Enough,” Ransom replied, sticking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and he lazily glanced sideways at Cass. She stopped beside him, the two facing opposite directions. How strange their dynamic so quickly changed. “You give the word, and I’ll offer a reward for his head. I know plenty of people who’d off Julius Byrne for kicks.”

Cass looked at him, prepared to sneer that making jokes was in poor taste. She met a face that retained no semblance of amusement or Ransom’s propensity for mocking sarcasm. He was serious, which Cass didn’t expect of him. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was comforting her after the messy ordeal of being threatened in her home.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.” Cass snapped irately, defensively turning her face away and resuming her march up the stairs. She would never admit that she considered the offer seriously because she didn’t need anyone’s pity or hand-holding.

She didn’t become ‘the Duchess’ on anyone’s kindness.


	10. Chapter 10

Another night, another visit to the West mansion.

Cass put her car into park and quickly reset the roof to its default, using the moment to fix up her hair and lipstick in the rearview mirror. Her eyes caught her reflection, gleaming with an intertwined duality of annoyance and smug anticipation. Mathias called a meeting over dinner, inviting her and Byrne to join him and Meredith for dinner. Cass knew her father’s aims when assembling the short guest list.

He would be discussing the engagement matters and she knew that things were about to get ugly, having a winning hand of secrets at her disposal to weaponize.

See, her little secret alliance with Meredith remained private knowledge, and she wanted to ensure her participation remained under wraps. Bless Meredith’s heart, but she loved to gossip. She and Cass held a private conversation after their outing when meeting “Hugh” and that’s when Cass decided to pitch her angle to her mother. She suggested her mother approach the angle that Byrne, following their engagement, became distracted from his main goal and needed to refocus. So, they should dissolve the union, giving Cass the time she needed to secure a relationship with someone else, thereby winning for her above all. 

She stepped out of her car and locked it behind her, slipping her keys into her designer clutch. She was [all black and red](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/00/50/cc/0050cc8163ead5b02cc1ef798bcf058b.jpg), dressed in the hues like the suits of playing cards from her jewelry to her dress and heels. Despite the opinions of Byrne, Meredith, Mathias, or anyone else at that damn table, Cass knew damn well she controlled the game. So, let the manipulation over the meal begin.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Cass remarked as she approached the door, echoing the prompt greeting gifted to her when she began her approach. She took great delight in the effort saved for her, the special treatment deserving of her status. Even when Mathias failed to recognize her contributions to their empire, she could unfailingly count on the men to pay her due respects.

She entered the foyer, heels clicking on the marble flooring—a familiar scene playing itself out. Instead of climbing the winding staircase standing before her, she walked confidently around it and pushed open the double doors of the dining room. She observed a table set for four and a single occupied seat belonging to Byrne. He glanced over to her, dark eyes glimmering when raking down her frame. Although, a wave of residual anger crept into his features when watching as she gracefully walked to a chair directly across from him.

She would rather sit elsewhere, but her seat was customary. Cass played along for her benefit and hoped her smile faked well enough to mask the disgust upon seeing Byrne. After he attempted to enter her home uninvited and would’ve harmed her should she be less prepared to fight, she still felt prepared to hunt him for sport.

“Cassiopeia.” He greeted, gruffer and more heated in his anger. 

“Julius,” Cass fired back, filled with venom. She sat down, and when she did, one of the kitchen staff hustled into the room with a martini. They set it before her, and she gave a gracious nod, thanking them for their expedient service. She would need a drink to handle Byrne’s bullshit. When they were alone, Cass smirked as she drank her martini, “Both of us know that if I never saw your face again, it would be too soon.”

Byrne narrowed his eyes at her, “Bitch.”

“That’s me. Consider putting some respect on the name of your betters.” Cass replied calmly, banking on the fact Byrne would get heated and ruin himself. She felt it a guaranteed outcome.

True to form, Byrne telegraphed his anger through his face and further cemented Cass’s long-standing commentary that he was a shit mobster and a shittier poker player. He should consider himself damn lucky that the cops never hauled him in for interrogation with connection for anything, but that likely had something to do with her planning raids so well that not even his idiocy could screw things up.

“You little-” He growled, fingers curling around his unwrapped butter knife he impatiently pulled from the napkin to play with while waiting. Cass smirked, lips guarded behind the martini glass.

“I dare you to finish that sentence, Byrne.”

“Fine. But all I’m going to say is that you should get accustomed to having dinner with me from here on out. After all, you and I are engaged.” Byrne reminded, hoping to turn the tables on Cass and get her up in arms about the arrangement he knew she despised. He wasn’t an idiot. His taunts did nothing to provoke Cass but did stoke anticipation for his bubble to be burst wide open.

“Go to hell. You aren’t getting what you want,” She scoffed and sat taller in her seat, unsettling Byrne with the confidence of her glance. She knew something- she couldn’t- “Not to mention, that desperate house visit you paid me the other day will be the nail in the coffin on our short-lived engagement. I haven’t mentioned it to my parents yet but give me a good enough reason and I will. I have the video footage to prove it.”

Byrne’s demeanor shifted, and the tables flipped back onto him, clearly feeling the heat from how red his face turned. “You’re lying. You wouldn’t have cameras- I don’t believe you!” He accused.

Cass kept her expression unflinching in the wake of his questioning like an expert. Of course, she would never keep cameras inside her personal residence because she wasn’t an idiot but playing Byrne like a fiddle was too fun to resist. She clicked her tongue disappointedly, “You can wager whether you think I’m lying at your personal risk. But what do you have to prove me wrong while I have the evidence I need? My footage and promising rumors about you getting piss drunk at bars and slandering my good name serve me well.”

“Where did you hear that?” Byrne’s guilt was instantaneous, tinging his question in an ashen white indication that she spoke the truth. Fear enveloped his face, and Cass laced her fingers together, watching him become flustered within a breath and flux between the tug of war in his mind. Not bright enough to tell she was playing him, huh?

“Around.” She said casually.

Byrne clenched his jaw, desperately trying to get ahold of himself. He watched Cass, quietly drinking her martini, and he searched fruitlessly for signs of deception. He should know by now that she could and would lie through her teeth, but she did have a habit of bluntly speaking her mind. The dichotomized existence of one Cassiopeia West served as an endless point of confusion for him to unravel, much to his chagrin.

“Why don’t you tell me where from, baby?” Byrne remarked, causing Cass to nearly choke on her mouthful of gin and vermouth. She forced herself to swallow and refused to give Byrne the satisfaction of showing her shock. He did not-

Cass set her martini down, casting a glance toward the door. She expected she had a few minutes to make her point, one of thorough and unshakeable misery for Byrne should he decide to open his mouth and ever repeat something that stupid.

So, she put on an alluring smirk that came with bedroom eyes, and Byrne’s attention was predictably hooked onto her. She inched forward in her chair, stretching her legs outward. It wasn’t hard to find Byrne’s legs invading her space under the table as he slouched in his chair. While holding back physical disgust, she slipped one of her feet out of the heel and brushed against his ankle. Byrne jolted in his seat, accidentally bumping forward on the table.

Perplexed but down for anything would be a perfect descriptor of the expression crossing his eyes while looking at Cass. She, reasonably, would instead carve out her intestines with a rusty spoon than sleep with Byrne. Not happening.

She spent another few repetitions of the move and started to draw her one leg back from his. Under the table, she switched her shoeless foot for the one still sheathed in her heel. She slipped the shoeless one back into her heel and lifted her stiletto above Byrne’s unsuspecting foot. “You want to know?”

“I- uh, yeah-” Byrne mumbled, distracted and struggling to keep his attention on the interrogation. Cass cocked her head to the side innocently and, with a wicked smile on her face, slammed her heel directly down. A dull thump sounded, but Cass couldn’t hear it over the strangled groan from Byrne. She knew that had to do some damage with the hope being a broken toe or two, maybe a bruise as a minimum requirement.

“Don’t ever call me ‘baby’ again,” Cass warned, taking in his glare and the pain he couldn’t hide. She would hope that would serve as a physical reminder to watch his tongue because he was not invincible under this roof simply because he was the underboss aimed to take over the throne when her dear old dad croaked. She heard the doors whoosh open and immediately stood up, face flat as she noticed Mathias and Meredith enter. “Good evening, father and mother.”

“Good evening, Cassiopeia,” Mathias replied on behalf of him and Meredith, who nodded affirmatively when addressing her manners on full display as they walked for their seats. His attention then turned to Byrne, who had not risen from his chair or given proper respects. “I didn’t realize you were here, Byrne. Your silence is deafening.”

Byrne snapped to his feet, spurned by Mathias’s pointed statement. Cass wouldn’t be surprised if he started sweating bullets. He laced his hands together and greeted with a quick, “Good evening Mr. and Mrs. West!”

“Good evening.” Meredith callously replied, crinkling her nose. She glanced over to Cass, and the two exchanged knowing looks. Meredith could see her daughter’s concerns about Byrne were correct and would correct that mistake at once. No more wasting time with such a foolish endeavor.

Mathias and Meredith sat together, with Mathias assuming the head of the table and Meredith to his left. Byrne sat on the left beside her, and Cass had a sole seat on the righthand side of the table with a space between her and Mathias to preserve the proper spacing. She sat down after her parents did, following customs that she learned since she was a child. When everyone found themselves seated, the staff rushed out of the kitchen with dinner plates in their hands. Cass could smell garlic butter lamb chops, and she figured that dinner would be good at least if the conversation turned into a shitshow.

The plates were set down before the participants of dinner, and everyone around the table eyed each other, reaching for their silverware. The eating commenced for the four, and the conversations would wait. Cass made sure to eat as much food as she could before the eventual debate ruined her appetite.

Around halfway through the meal and where Cass had finished her entire meal with grace, Mathias looked between her and Byrne. The atmosphere felt tensely formal, stiff and Byrne awkwardly glanced around throughout the meal. The silence started to unnerve him, especially after Cass’s intimidation.

“So, we brought you here tonight to discuss the engagement.” Mathias declared, but his tone implied ‘discuss’ was an understatement. Byrne, in the middle of drinking, stopped and covered his mouth. He swallowed and looked ready to speak, meaning Cass would sit back with her martini and let him fall on his sword. If he seemed to be weathering the storm, then she’d consider when to throw in her bombshells.

“Excellent! I was thinking about this yesterday and have decided that we shouldn’t do this big, overexaggerated wedding ceremony. I think a quickie wedding at the courthouse should be enough. Why waste money on some ‘grand ceremony’ when we can focus the money into the enterprises of the business for me to use while Cass gets ready to continue the West bloodline.” Byrne remarked, cheekily adding the last line as a dig to Cass. Cass narrowed her eyes, but that wouldn’t be what killed him.

“Excuse me?” Meredith coughed violently, and Cass clapped her hand over her mouth. Oh god, Byrne was about to sabotage himself. Nothing Meredith wanted more than to plan the ‘wedding of the century’ for Cass and whatever poor idiot she tricked into marrying her. She would rather die than let her only daughter get away without a wedding to vicariously living through her. “What did you just say?”

Cass quietly took a bread roll from the middle of the table and quietly spread butter across it, prepared for the circus to begin. She could hear the clown music. Byrne, across from her, ignored her silence and spoke up, “I just think weddings are useless. All the fuss and ceremonies to let people know you’re married. The money is better suited for me and my empire.”

“My word, what an awful suggestion.” Meredith fanned her face, looking sick to her stomach at the thought. Cass finished her martini and couldn’t write it better herself. Byrne’s hubris would be his undoing.

“You’re overdramatic-” Byrne commented, earning Mathias’s wicked glare. He slammed a fist against the table, shaking it under his rage.

“Watch your mouth,” Mathias demanded and cleared his throat, lacing his hands together. Cass saw this, and she felt a smirk desperately try to overwhelm her. It was apparent that her father appeared uncomfortable, meaning he was about to eat a heaping pile of crow and admit error about something. Now, rolling back everything he said was borderline impossible, so she placed her hopes in him revoking the engagement. “Byrne, I am finding myself disappointed with your performance as of late. Are you ready to marry my daughter and run this empire after that juvenile conversation and your poor performance?”

Byrne’s jaw fell open, and Cass swore she might slump back in ecstasy from hearing those words when Meredith chimed in, “Mathias and I think it best that you re-focus your attention without distraction centered around Cass.”

“No, this is ridiculous!” Byrne barked, unable to help himself. With those defiant words, Mathias and Byrne started bickering with their voices laying over each other. The two men rose onto their feet, screaming at each other. Meredith looked uncomfortable while Cass wanted to laugh herself to death. She watched them ripping at each other’s throats but started feeling her phone buzz in her purse when she shifted it into her lap.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose,” Cass mentioned. However, no one appeared to be listening to her over the argument between Byrne and Mathias, and she gracefully exited the dining room. She waited until her back faced the others of the dinner party before she let herself smile, walking through the halls as she ducked into the nearest room. She recognized it as the parlor where her mother entertained guests. She checked her phone to see three missed calls from Ransom, wondering why the hell he was calling during this dinner. He knew where she would be, and she thought that he wouldn’t do something that could jeopardize their operation.

She clicked the missed calls to return his call, pressing her phone to her ear and watching the door. She pushed it closed with her foot, and the door remained a tad cracked open, but she expected that Byrne and her father would find themselves a little busy with their argument to pay her absence much attention.

So focused on the door, she nearly missed the line picking up until she heard Ransom’s crooning chuckle from the other side, _“-And here I thought you were ignoring me, Princess.”_

“I was busy,” Cass scoffed, rolling her eyes. Leave it Ransom to think himself the center of the universe. She walked over to the window, peering out to the backyard and pool, covered for the impending winter, as she said, “The table erupted into an argument when my father told Byrne he’s rethinking the engagement.”

Ransom’s background became muffled with the sound of movement, making Cass guess he was at The Rye Room, and shifted excitedly in his seat. _“Oh? That must’ve been an entertaining fight, no?”_

“Frankly, I’m too exhausted to care. I just spent the last nine hours at the courthouse and dealing with clients to come here and relive all the bullshit. So, why did you call?” Cass inquired, cutting to the chase.

 _“What, you don’t believe I wanted to hear the sound of your lovely voice?”_ Ransom questioned, earning pointed silence from Cass. No, she wouldn’t believe that. He wanted more than to pester and flirt with her, as he always did. Ransom sighed, aware he wasn’t fooling her. _“Fine. I needed a favor and knew the best time for you to get it would be now.”_

“Hit me.” She remarked, checking the time. If she played it right and went fast, she could finish his favor and hustle back to the table in under ten minutes. She could play off a casual stroll about the mansion should she find herself interrogated, but that felt highly unlikely.

 _“I was going over our retaliation raid and noticed a missing detail in our outline. There are two safes with missing passcodes and the guard rotation for that evening during the raid. I was hoping that you could peek and pass on the information while you were at the mansion.”_ He informed.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Cass promised, making a note to sneak into her father’s office and see if she could tamper with the safe to get the book where her father keeps his information. She guessed that she could deduce the codes without looking, but an incorrect intel would endanger her double-crossing scheme. She couldn’t have that.

_“Good, that would be appreciated right away-”_

“Who are you talking to?” Meredith’s voice sounded from behind her, making Cass nearly drop her phone. She turned around and saw her standing in the doorway, head cocked to the side with confusion as to why Cass was in her parlor.

Cass, thinking quickly, leaned back to the phone and summoned her best ‘schoolgirl in love’ voice for how she would cover her tracks.

“I can’t wait to see you soon, okay? Text me later.” Cass cooed with a flirtatious edge and hung up before Ransom could respond to that. She gave a caught smile to her mother and glanced at her phone. “Sorry, it’s Hugh. He wanted to ask about reservations for dinner soon.”

Meredith’s face morphed into glee, clapping her hands together excitedly. She could hear the connection from the one-side of the call, knowing that Cass’s prospects with Hugh increased with every conversation. She would be the envy of the social scene when Cass married the handsome, likely filthy rich Hugh Drysdale.

“Oh! Good! I shouldn’t have interrupted. I’m sure that you should call him back and take your time,” Meredith suggested, waving her hand. “Maybe if you go upstairs, no one will bother you. I can keep your father busy, but I don’t think he’ll need help with that.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Cass agreed, slipping past her mother without hesitation. When it played to her advantage, she saw no reason to protest. She climbed up the spiral stairs to the second floor and made a beeline for her father’s office, intentionally slipping into the shadows. She stepped out of her heels to silence her footsteps, to hide her real intent.

She hustled across the floor and tested the lock of the office, finding the door locked. She sighed, pulling out a bobby pin from her hair. She fashioned it into a lockpick and quickly worked to dismantle the lock, clicking it open. When the door softly creaked, Cass gathered her shoes and slipped inside.

Kneeling at Mathias’s desk to reach the safe hidden in the side drawer, Cass twisted the lock as she knew the combination. When the door popped open, she withdrew the bound journal belonging to Mathias and frantically flipped it open. She jumped across pages and used her phone to snap pictures, gathering the needed information.

She double-checked the photographs before she slid the journal into the safe and locked it behind her. She grabbed her heels and slipped out of the office. She sent the pictures to Ransom’s number, watching them load. Needing to call Ransom back, she ducked into the nearest bathroom.

The door locked behind her, and the sink turned on to muffle her conversation. Cass dialed Ransom’s number and heard the dial tone before the line picked up almost right away.

“They should be through,” Cass remarked, leaving no room for formalities the second go around. She leaned against the wall, standing across from the sink, and spoke in hushed tones. Keeping her eyes trained on the door, she whispered, “I got everything you asked.”

 _“I know. I love it when you come through for me, Princess. Excellent work.”_ Ransom commented, undeniably pleased from his tone. Cass felt her lips tug into a smirk, feeling the highs of victory impending.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We have much more to do.”


End file.
